#Being at the top of a dung pile just means the smell is all the more prevalent when things get heated

[weaverreaver42]

I want it noted I do in fact hate that Trump won, and think less of his voter base for being willing to vote for him.

I'm not going to do the liberal BS of "Oh you should have voted for Harris specifically because" blah blah blah. We know we live in a broken system, and we know the reality of the situation sucks. If you want to hope for a better tomorrow without trying to compromise your morals in someway, fine. HOWEVER: Collapsing the government could also have lead to such an outcome and at this point I'm not exactly arguing with anyone who claims we are already on that path.

But that's a side tangent to cover my bases for a different point.

I HATE Trump, and though a previous post (Where I made it clear that my disdain for trump is enough that I very well could get targeted by some government agency for it) implied I was willing to side with his followers on an issue if it gets the overall end result I want... that doesn't mean I don't think you are an awful person for choosing to vote for him. Money matters less than people. A serial rapist should not be given that kind of power when they have never been held accountable, if you say even after facing accountability and reforming you wouldn't trust someone convicted of that to have such power- I wouldn't dare argue. A man who would/does actively benefit on people's suffering and the maintaining of a status quo that sucks for 99.999+% of humanity shouldn't have had such unreasonable success TWICE. A man who instigated an actual attempted coup, literal terrorism, avoiding a trial while Luigi Mangione- A MAN WHO PEOPLE HAVE ACTIVELY BEEN MAKING ARGUMENTS MIGHT NOT ACTUALLY BE THE CEO KILLER- is already in custody is a slap in the face to anything Americans would dare to claim to believe in (especially when you remember Luigi is ALSO being tried for terrosim despite indications that whoever did it actively attempted to preserve life as much as possible in the killing meaning that if it was him he was trying to avoid hurting anyone but the CEO).

If you voted for trump, whether you admit it or not, you are partially responsible for the state of America as it is today and will shape it at least for the next coming decade (9/11 was 23 years ago, you think a coup from an ex-president WON'T have that level of impact?). You actively hurt yourself and those around you- both those you love and hate. Life has been and will continue to be worse for choices you've made. It was a choice you made to pick HIM over literally just saying "all these options suck" and deciding to hope for the best and not try to do more damage by tipping the scales. Self-destruction and indecision are both choices, but at least indecision isn't guaranteed to hurt those around you. No one is an island, you can't escape your impact on those around you.

Most Importantly

There may be a day where those you've impacted realize the choices you made.

I know I can die, having tried my best to be better even to those I don't like or respect. To try and actively be better even when it sucks and hurts and has no real benefit, just because SOMEONE has to take that first step.

The people who voted for Trump? You all AGREED to let someone take power who very clearly made hateful people feel safe enough to threaten anyone they felt like- even the government and those in power. Who actively tried to protect or justify bigotry and attempts at genuine harm to others.

Most people who would want me dead, do so with the feeling being mutual ONLY because I know there are plenty of innocent others they would knowingly let get hurt. You people, who are possibly reading this after voting for that man? You can live with knowing, people who want you dead very well might be justified in doing so.

I would stand by a nazi, if only for the world to stand still long enough in confusion for us to agree that Nazi's and similar beliefs/groups should never have begun to exist in the first place and make sure it never happens again. Because I hope to FUCK people aren't stupid enough to deny the absolute self-destructive paradox that is the modern human existence forever. I hope people are smart enough to realize, if a person who believes in human rights and hates bigots of any kind is willing to stand by a nazi on a subject- it's for a motive other than agreeing with a nazi.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Of Worried Kittens and Wee Bairns

(I couldn’t not do the Lady and the Tramp scene with Skimble and Asparagus now that the idea was in my head, and @the-cat-at-the-theatre-door has been her usual wonderfully inspirational self, so... here it is!)

Jemima hadn’t been acting like herself all day.  While she and Etcetera were usually the first kittens up every morning, even before Munkustrap and his patrols, today all of them had taken off without her, and she was left sunning herself all alone on the roof of her den.  At first, Skimble didn’t think much of it—the lass had her days when she wanted to be alone for one reason or another, and he’d like to think that he, Jenny, and Jelly had raised the other kittens well enough to respect that. And when he saw Demeter climbing up to keep her company, he assumed all would be well.  But even after everyone came home for the afternoon and Jemima would have plenty of cats to play with, she still kept to herself.  When Plato’s junior hunting party came back with the day’s catch, Electra immediately pounced for the fattest mouse and generously carried it over to her friend… only for Jemima to murmur a no and flop glumly onto her other side.

That was enough to really worry Skimble.  He clambered down from the car boot just in time to hear Electra frantically telling Asparagus, “She hasn’t eaten anything today—I don’t want her to starve!”

Asparagus gently chucked her under the chin before looking up and making eye contact with his mate. “We’ll look after her, dear, don’t you worry.”  Taking the offered mouse from her, he crept closer to Jemima and quietly settled down a few feet away, dropping the fresh kill in front of her.

The soft noise made her jump slightly, and she raised her chin from her front paws.  “Oh… hi, Uncle Gus… you keep it, I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, come on now, Jem, you need to eat.”  He cocked his head down slightly to meet her eyes as Skimble settled down on her other side. “Is something the matter?”

Jemima shrugged, a very small movement of her shoulders.  “I don’t know… it’s… it’s Emily.”

Skimble’s eyes widened a bit at the name of hers and Munkustrap’s owner.  “She hasn’ae been mistreating you, has she?”

“Not… really?  I guess it’s… I guess it’s my fault honestly.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, lassie,” Skimble replied, offended on the kitten’s behalf, but trying not to show it too much in his voice.  “Why, all the times you’ve been travelling with me, I’ve never heard a bad word about you from any human.  What could you have done to bother Emily so much?”

“I don’t know, but I must have done something.  She’s been acting so weird lately… I don’t think she likes me anymore.”  She swiped a paw over her eyes, and Asparagus let out a soft moue of concern, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his hip.

“It’ll help talking about it, I promise.  That’s what I tell your dad when he’s being a stubborn ass,” he added, prompting a tiny wet laugh out of the kitten in spite of herself.

“I’m gonna tell him you called him that.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be the first time.  Now tell us what’s going on, Jem.”

Jemima hesitated for a moment before swiping another paw over her face and straightening up a bit, tucking herself more snugly against Asparagus’s side as she sat upright.  “Well… you know she’s a writer, right?  She doesn’t write so much anymore—she’s got all these little books that she’s always in the kitchen reading, and sometimes she gets up in the middle of the night to cook or read, and she always comes back smelling… different.  She doesn’t smell like herself anymore.”  She crinkled her nose like she’d just had a pile of dung shoved in her face.

Skimble nodded—that could mean any number of things, in his experience.  “Go on.”

“And she… she doesn’t play with me so much anymore.  Or clean the dirt or give us water… Daddy keeps trying to get her attention, but it never works.  Then the other day Jacob—her mate—came home to see her, and he said… he said ‘Those cats made a mess again.’”  Her eyes brimmed with tears at the memory.  “He called us those cats… he never calls us that.”

“Well, it sounds like Jacob still has some manners to learn,” Asparagus said primly.  “Still… I suppose I wouldn’t hold it against him too much. They’re only humans, after all.”

“Aye.  Remember, it’s yours and your da’s house truly—Jacob and Emily are just keeping it while you’re away.”

Jemima shook her head, still not looking convinced.  “That’s not even the worst part.  Yesterday, Emily had a bunch of her friends over, and they all brought her a bunch of gifts, but none of them said a word to us!  Daddy told me to just leave it be, but… I probably did something bad.” Her ears pinned back and a muscle jumped in her jaw, as if she were afraid of saying what happened out loud.

But Asparagus merely bumped his shoulder gently against hers.  “Better get it off your chest now, dear.”

“I… she was holding some kind of little blanket, and… well, we usually play peek-a-boo with her bedspread in the mornings, so I jumped up and tried to play… and she… she smacked me on the nose and made me get down.  I mean, it… I guess it didn’t really hurt, but she’s never done that before… is that normal… Uncle Gus?  Uncle Skimble?”

So that was it. Skimble caught his mate’s eye over her head, and the two shared a conspiratorial grin.  If they only had a shilling for every time they’d heard this particular song and dance before… and at least it was that and not something much more dire.

“Well now, lassie,” Skimble replied, unable to stifle a chuckle, “I wouldn’ae take it too seriously. After all, it’s… well, it’s a rather delicate time for your Emily.”

“Oh, yes… what is it they call it?  The, ah—the birds and the bees?  Or… the stork?  Has she mentioned anything to you about a stork, Jem?”

“No.”  Jemima looked at him blankly.  “What do bees have to do with it?”

Asparagus gave Skimble a quietly helpless look, and Skimble tried not to sigh, remembering what a difficult time he had giving this talk to Plato when he was Jemima’s age.  “What he’s trying to say is, Emily’s expecting a wee bairn.”

Jemima’s face was even more blank.  “Bairn?”

“He means a baby, Jem,” Asparagus replied quickly, happily relieved to be back on familiar ground.

“Oh… that’s… like a small human, right?”

“Well, yes,” Skimble said after some hesitation, “but it’s a wee bit more complicated than that.”

“They’re much smaller than humans at first,” Asparagus explained.  “When they first come home, they’ll be no bigger than you are now, and they’ll walk on all four feet just like we do.”

“And they make such a fuss,” Skimble tutted, shaking his head.  “They won’t know how to talk like humans do, so they’ll scream and yell at the top of their wee voices every chance they get.  And they grab at your fur and drink up all the milk in the house—I remember when our Abigail was small, she could never get enough to drink.”

“But that sounds horrible!” Jemima, exclaimed, pulling out of Asparagus’s grip and backing away a few inches.  “Why would Emily want a baby if they’re gonna be that much trouble?”

“Well, it’s like Skimble said—it’s only because they don’t know how to talk yet.  And when you can’t talk, everything’s so much more terrifying. You remember when you were small, how big the world was and how scary?”

“Kittens are the same way, lassie, believe me—you should hear the horror stories about your Auntie Bomba.”

“Oh, don’t you remind me.”  Asparagus glared at him with an exaggerated shudder, earning only a laugh from Skimble in return.

The stormclouds had cleared somewhat from Jemima’s expression as she tried to follow what the older toms were saying.  “But… so they’ll grow, right?  They won’t just… do nothing but scream and eat forever?”

“Oh, definitely not. And when they grow up a bit, Emily might finally let you play with them.  It’ll be worth the wait, trust me.”  Asparagus gave her a reassuring smile.  “They’re very sweet.”

“And very very soft,” Skimble added, giving the lass a gentle tap on the nose, finally prompting another smile from her.

“That doesn’t sound so bad… I guess it’ll be all righ—”

“Are you guys talking about babies?”  A loud voice suddenly sounded from above, and all three of them looked up to see…

“Tumblebrutus, what have I told you about eavesdropping?” Asparagus thundered up at him, jabbing an accusing claw in that direction.

But the young tom wasn’t the least bit bothered.  “Pouncival’s humans brought a baby home a few months ago—her name’s Farida, and she’s really fun.”  And with that contribution to the conversation, Tumblebrutus ambled off and disappeared again into the higher rubbish heaps.

Asparagus was shaking his head, but Skimble couldn’t help another laugh.  “Well… there you have it, lassie—the Tumblebrutus Seal of Approval, whatever that might be worth.”

That actually got a giggle out of the kitten, and it was the happiest sound Skimble had heard all day. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jemima said at last, her eyes bright and her face content at last.  “I’m just glad it means Emily doesn’t hate me.”

“Oh, who could ever hate you?”  Bringing a paw down on her shoulder again, Asparagus playfully jostled her until her smile grew even wider.  “Between you and your dad, your baby’s going to be in the best possible paws.”

“Just remember—give them a few months before playing,” Skimble put in, raising a claw for emphasis. “They’re rather expensive, you know.”

“I know.”  And Jemima butted the side of her head against his paw, nuzzling him and earning an affectionate scratch over her ear in return. “Thank you, you two… we’ll be okay.”

[kathyprior4200]

Roo (fan interpretation)

Roo profile (fan made)

Roo is a character in Hazbin Hotel.

Character information (fan made):

True name: Roxanne

Nicknames: Trash Queen, Roxy (by her sister)

Date of birth: early 1970s/late 1960s?

Date of death: 1990s?

Cause of death: Burning in incinerator

Likes: Killing demons, working with herbs, singing, playing Australian music, fashion, successful trash days

Dislikes: Her boss, her sister, demons remarking on her ugly appearance

Sexuality: Bi

Species: Human (Previously), Kangaroo Demon

Gender: Female

Age: 20s-30s

Abilities: Trash picking, herbal brewing, weaponry, strong punches/kicks, using her parasite, carrying items

 Occupation: Trash Queen, trash picker, body disposer

Family: Kanga (Older angel sister)

Unnamed Mother

Unnamed Father

Friends: ?

Enemies: ?

Status: Inactive in the show (as of 2020)

Voice actor: N/A.

First appearance: N/A

 Appearance:

Roo is a Kangaroo demon. She has wild aburn hair, partially black and partially brown and curly in the shape of flames. Her eyes are orange with white iris and heavy eyelids. Her skin is pale with orange freckles.

 Roo wears an orange dress with sleeves in spike designs. She wears a checkered pin and chain necklaces, plus black bands on her arms. She also wears a black, magenta like wide brimmed hat with an orange and white checkered design on the inside.

 Abilities:

Natural abilities: Demon Transformation

Like every other demon, Roo possesses the ability to transform into her Full Demon Form and back to her default form with ease.

 Skillset:

Hand-to-hand combat: Roo can deliver strong punches and kicks like kangaroos.

 Weaponry: Roo can use guns and knives and is shown to store an angelic blade for emergencies.

 Item hoarding: Roo has the ability to store items inside her natural expandable pouch and retrieve them.

 Parasite Summoning: Though hard to control at times, Roo can summon her parasite to attack demons and dig through trash by opening her mouth.

 Herbal brewing: Roo has knowledge on herbs and uses them for tea, healing and poisoning other demons.

 Music: Roo can play the didgeridoo, the bullroarer and other Aboriginal Australian instruments as well as some other classic European/Western ones.

 Building and recycling: Roo’s house is made of trash fused together and her clothing is made from recycled material.

 Trivia:

Roo is Australian. Her name, “Roo” is Australian slang for kangaroo.

 Roo’s name is also slang for an ugly, clumsy, or idiotic woman in Australian. This is fitting, given her crazed nature and appearance.

 Roo is French for herb,” Rue also means “Street” or “regret.”

 Her sister’s name, Kanga, is the other part of kangaroo. Her name is slang for “police officer,” or “travel bug.”

 Kanga was the more obedient sibling, and thus the favored one. Roo was frequently jealous of her beauty and popularity. The final straw came when Kanga/Kahla almost got her arrested for her body disposing crimes and her rebellious attitude.

 Kanga is an angel and kangaroo humanoid while Roo is a demon. Roo shows no real desire to see her again, but will go into a confrontation if she does see her.

 Roo can play the didgeridoo, the bullroarer and other Aboriginal Australian instruments as well as other classic European/Western ones.

 Cherri Bomb is another character who was originally from Australia.

 The unofficial shipping name for Cherri Bomb and Roo would be RoomerBang (combination of Roo and boomerang)

 All the chapters are trash puns (Down in the Dumps, One Person’s Trash Is Another’s Treasure, Let’s Blow This Dump, etc.)

 “Thank You For The Venom” may be a fitting My Chemical Romance song for her.

  Chapter One: One Person’s Trash Is Another’s Treasure

 Junkyards and landfills were not pleasant places to be at.

 This was especially true in Hell.

 Along with drinking, using drugs, gambling and killing people, the denizens of Hell wasted food and littered like there was no tomorrow. Indeed, it was not uncommon to see broken bottles, cans, paper, and plastic strewn about in the streets. Much of the garbage in Hell ended up in towering landfills…taller than the ones in Australia and the most populated countries on Earth. Nearby, hazardous chemicals flowed into the fiery lakes and oceans, adding to the already torturous experience of the souls trapped underneath. Water, let alone clean water, was a rare concept among the fiery inferno…hence the alcoholic drinks being the most common beverage.

 The rotting overpowering stench steered many demons away from the landfills beyond the wired fence.

 Save for one demon who, more or less, called the vast yard of junk home.

 The woman was currently on her knees on the ground in front of a large pile of rubbish. She wore torn black pants, dark high boots and a jacket made from tanned leather that was originally Hellhound dung. Her undershirt was bright orange and a black and white checkered pin was stuck on the left side of the jacket.

 Her hair was wild and wavy, aburn in color. Her hair was black at the crown of her head and ended in a lighter brown at the ends. Some of the ends of her hair curled up and flowed out like flames. In fact, a few areas of her clothing had peeled apart, the pieces slowly floating away. The demon had white skin with tiny orange spots on it. But it was her bright orange eyes with white pupils and her rows of sharp teeth that made her intimidating. An incinerating fire seemed to crackle throughout her body, remaining sealed in by the demon’s willpower alone.

 Digging her sharp claws into the pile, the demon rummaged through the array of discarded items, before ending up with a handful of trash in her white hands. She placed it on the ground and peered closely at it. She sorted through it, tossing aside bits of plastic with her fingertips. She spotted what looked like the remains of a demon finger. She popped it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before continuing her work. Toward the end, she brushed aside some paper and found something glinting…a soul. Not the essence of a being but rather, a form of Hell’s currency. The demon smiled and picked up the shiny black coin.

 “Roo, you’ve done it again,” she praised herself. “Demons just don’t know what they throw away.”

 Roo pocketed the coin in a jean pocket and rummaged through more piles. Unlike the day before, she had gotten lucky in a few hours. She had found a near-empty bottle of whisky, half of a gold necklace, some rope, and some old boots. She pulled down her pants a little, exposing her pale stomach. With several grunts, the area below her stomach jutted out until a large natural pouch was revealed. It looked similar to a pouch of a mother kangaroo and had a similar function to it. Unlike kangaroos though, Roo stored weapons and materials in there. She deposited her treasures inside before retracting the pouch back into herself.

 Time for the next stage of the job.

 Roo was already used to the stench of garbage…her nose was barely there, so she hardly smelled much of anything. As she was already dead, she didn’t have to worry as much about infections and disease. Still, she was always careful about who or what she came into contact with. Like unknown containers, demons could be valuable at first glance but actually be laced with toxicity.

 At last, she made her way back to her home…a trash home fit for a queen.

 The entrance was actually at the top of a temple made of trash, crates, and fused pieces of paper and glass. The temple had five different layers, each getting smaller and narrower toward the top. It was reminiscent of a small Aztec temple. She walked up the stairs until reaching the top. The top was covered by a round mound of trash glued together forming a sort of round roof. She walked into the small open cave and glanced down at a wooden trapdoor. She pressed a button lodged into the wall and the door opened. Without hesitation, she jumped down into the square opening.

 Flop!

 Roo landed safely on a soft bouncy mattress at the bottom. She stepped off the mattress and headed through the first underground opening.

 Roo’s lair was, in fact, underground, the exit consisting of a set of stairs that led up to a spot just outside the junkyard. The walls were made of a combination of rock and trash fused together. There was wiring along the walls to provide light and electricity. The windows were made of multicolored glass set within the walls in each room. Down a narrow hallway, an arched smooth concave area in a wall showed boomerangs of different shapes on display. On another wall were weapons, axes and a few guns. Plus there lay a single angelic spear which she had traded a bucket of opals and souls for on the black market…and nearly got killed getting it.

 The living room and kitchen were small and humble. There was a square wooden table with a checkered cloth for eating, a stove, a sink, a refrigerator, some chairs, and some wooden shelves attached to the wall. An array of potions and herbs stood on the shelves, some pushed further back into shadowed corners. In the living room was an old flowered couch, an orange rug and an old fashioned TV with large knobs off to the upper right. The lights overhead were round, with several air shafts in the ceiling. A small slope of rock with a handle bar led up to the bathroom. Pictures of monstrous kangaroos hopping in fiery fields and demon meat set tastefully on platters decorated the walls of the living room.

 Roo made it into her bedroom, a room with a queen size bed and a tubular fluorescent light over the headboard. 60s and 70s style abstract artwork hung on the walls, while skulls of demons and mythical creatures lined the shelves. Her most prized skull was that of a crocodile demon, whom she had wrestled over a box of gold and opals. Another bastard demon had stolen the box while they were distracted. Roo had promptly killed the crocodile without mercy. She had managed to get several fallen opals, which she kept in a special spot on her dresser. She opened up her closet and found the outfit she was looking for.

 Moments later, she was dressed in a bright orange dress that ended half way up her upper legs. The front collars of the dress by her shoulders had spiked edges as part of the design. A black and white checkered pin was pinned onto the front. Black bands encircled her arms along with a dark choker around her neck. Tall black boots covered her feet, while two chain necklaces dangled and clinked when she moved. Her look was completed with an Akubra style hat with a wide brim, outlined orange. The hat itself was similar to her hair color, black to a brownish color, perhaps maroon. The hat had a small pinkish orange circular design on the top. Once Roo was ready, she made her way up and out the exit door, taking care to lock it. Stepping back into the Hellish heat wasn’t pleasant…her home provided her with brief relief.

 Roo swayed her hips as she walked into the Hell 666 club. The interior was noisy and vibrant. The walls and ceiling were coated in neon pinks, purples and blues, with openings of a large aquarium visible. Eels, sharks and fish swam around in the water, providing a more relaxing atmosphere for stressed out patrons. Several demons sitting at round white-clothed tables stopped and stared at her. Their eyes held a mixture of awe and disgust. Roo ignored the hushed mutters as she passed.

 “Is that the trash lady?”

 “Yeah, the Aussie girl.”

 “She would be hotter if she weren’t so dirty all the time.”

 “A scum living among the garbage. So glad I’m not her. She’s an ugly, clumsy bitch!”

 “If she likes to get down and dirty, then I’ll happily give her a few pointers. Heh, heh, heh.”

 There was a series of “phews” and cat calls that rang in her ears. Roo took a seat at the bar next to a blue muscular dragon with orange tattoos along his arms. The dark blue bull bartender stomped over and noticed her. “Yeah?”

 “Hit me up with a cold one if you please,” she said. “Gores Fight 1969.”

 She reached into her pocket and fished out several soul coins. The bartender took them and marched off.

 The blue muscular dragon turned to a slender light blue dragon next to him. The dragon stabbed a knife into the table and grinned up at a TV overhead.

 The muscular blue dragon turned to his friend and a pink overlord dragon with wild yellow hair. He laughed when he watched Charlie on TV.

 “Is this girl for real? Ha! Does she think…oh she’s haha…oh she’s nuts!”

 Roo glanced up and heard that Charlie was talking about some kind of hotel that was going to be used to redeem sinners. What a joke. Roo perceived her as a secluded princess who decided to make a public joke after being cooped inside for so long. Hell really was a burning madhouse inside a circus. Or was it circus inside a madhouse?

 Roo turned to the blue muscular dragon and put on her most innocent face. “Greetings my fine fellow dragon. Need something to drink?”

 The dragon scoffed and made a face. “If you’re talking about it that way, hell no. You’re not my type.”

 “No, I mean to actually drink.”

 She pulled out the near empty bottle from her pouch.

 “Not from that dirty glass,” scoffed the dragon. “Looks like someone threw it out!”

 “And what fools they are,” she added, already conjuring up a scam. “This is not just any drink. This is liquor from the oldest bar in Hell. This bottle is said to have been full during the last freeze over in Hell…occurs every 100 years or so. Lilith herself drank from this very bottle before storing it away.”

 “Ha! No way!”

 “DNA and spit never lie. Taste it for yourself.”

 The dragon reached for the bottle but Roo held it out of reach. “It’ll cost you…let’s say twenty souls.”

 “Twenty souls?! Nonsense! Even if the queen did drink from it, it’d be worth far less. Like one and a half.”

 “Turning down an opportunity just like that? And they say I’m trash.”

 “I’ll pay you two souls.”

 “Twenty. Nothing more or less.”

 The dragon sighed and handed her twenty coins. Roo greedily stuffed them into her pouch. Her ice cold beer arrived in front of her and she happily gulped down several gulps.

 The dragon hastily spit out the contaminated whiskey. “You conning bitch! Give me back my money!”

 “Finders keepers,” she grinned.

 “I’ll kill you right here and now!”

 She stood up and calmly smoothed out her dress. “How about this? You’ll have to pay me extra if you want to keep your arms.”

 The two of them made their way to the center of the area. The crowd glanced up at them, some of them eager to see a fight, while others rolled their eyes at the sight of another Tuesday brawl.

 The dragon rushed at her and she dodged, dashing under tables and avoiding his thick fists. The dragon growled and clenched his fists, landing a painful blow to her stomach. Roo grunted out loud and managed to roll out of the way before the dragon slammed a fist into the floor. Roo lacked the dragon’s strength, but her lighter frame made her more agile and faster. Several times, she mocked the dragon, tearing her claws against his skin, which was more of an annoyance than a discomfort.

 “You know, I’ve had a long fucking day,” the dragon grunted. “So how about I take whatever you have in your pouch and be on my way.”

 “I don’t think so, you brute.”

 “Heh, heh, heh, little lady has a death wish!”

 The dragon let out an intimidating roar, but Roo remained unfazed.

 “You hungry? Get ready for a knuckle sandwich!” he called.

  Scratching and sharp moving sensations erupted in her core. It felt like hunger mixed with kicks and sharp pains. If one listened closely, they could hear low growls from inside her. Roo was indeed, hungry.

But she was not the only one.

 Roo grinned, staring down at herself. Her voice grew lower and distorted. “I think it’s time to eat.”

 She opened her fanged mouth wide. Drops of dark colored spit and blood poured down onto the floor, dark magenta in color. Emerging from her mouth was an orange serpent-like creature. It was a slender parasite with white spikes all over its body. The small head had a single white eye on top, with longer spikes jutting from the crown. Smaller spikes were curled in near its mouth like spider pinchers. On its side was another large white eye, outlined in an orange aura.

 In addition, the creature had two kinds of appendages. One were several pairs of metallic legs with little orange spots on them. The ends of the insect-like legs had blades fastened to them. At least a dozen small black tendrils were also connected to the creature, including a larger black clawed appendage with glowing white-orange eyes inside.

 “What the fuck is that?!” the blue dragon yelled, his eyes wide with fear.

 The blue dragon soon found out when the parasite leapt toward him, legs ready. The dragon ducked and promptly ran for his life. A lighter colored blue dragon charged forward, only to have the creature slice a good cut onto the scales of his neck. The dragon roared in pain and tossed the creature away. He stared at the cut in disbelief…almost nothing else save for an angelic weapon could pierce through dragon hide. The parasite landed on the ground, right next to a demon. He was a green man who had catcalled Roo earlier.

 Roo’s brown and black hair flickered wildly, increasing in heat.

 “Still wanna call me hot?” she asked playfully to him.

 Without warning, the parasite jumped and attacked the green demon, tearing his clothes with the bladed limbs. Several demons raced for the exit, only to be grabbed by the creature’s tentacles and pulled back, screaming. The parasite held several demons in its larger black claw. The parasite opened its fanged mouth and took several deadly bites. The green man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head after a high pitched wail escaped his mouth. His blood, energy and life force left him, as the parasite drank it up from the bleeding wound in his chest. The man fell still and appeared lifeless.

 “Hey, isn’t that the guy who could hypnotize people?” one demon asked, holding a knife in shaking hands.

 “That’s right,” Roo said from behind him. Her orange eyes glowed in the dimness of the room. The demon reeled back in terror.

 “Roo continued. “He won’t have his powers anymore if he ever survives.”

 Roo then grinned and pointed upwards. The demon barely had time to look when the parasite landed and bit hard into his face, causing him to stumble and fall. Roo used the opportunity to steal several glasses of beer and stuff them into her pocket. Roo kangaroo-kicked a beetle demon hard, sending her backwards and cracking her ribs. A long spiked kangaroo tail emerged from Roo’s lower back, the appendage swiping away several demons who had tried to reach her. The bull bartender ran for his life. Roo glanced back and the fallen male demon already had his heart ripped out. The last chunks of organs were traveling down inside the parasite in small round bulges. Blood coated the parasite’s orange body and white limbs.

 The unleashed beast began to feast in a frenzy. It leapt from demon to demon, biting into them, sucking out their energy, or in some cases, traveling inside them before bursting out in a shower of blood. There was hardly anyone left in the facility after the parasite was done. The creature consumed and swallowed several of the corpses, not even leaving any bones behind. There were a few unconscious demons left…and those were the ones that the parasite had laid fresh eggs in, shaped like small glowing eyes. Roo herself, feasted on the remaining dead…fresh flesh had never tasted so good. She could see why it was the favorite classic food of demons.

 There would be quite a few sick demons in the near future. Roo laughed at the thought.

 Roo casually pulled off a dead demon’s arm and munched on it. She swung the arm at a demon straining to stand…he was soon knocked out.

 “Another good trash pickup,” Roo said with a sigh as she disposed and burned the rest of the remains. It was as mundane to her as successfully cleaning a house or yard would be to a human. Every year, Roo would be assigned the most horrific jobs in the sewers, having to pick up trash, poop and other waste from careless demons. And every year after the Exterminators attacked, Roo and the parasite would roam the streets, disposing of bodies and consuming them. When she wasn’t paid, which was nearly all the time, she would scam others for money, often posing as a prostitute or dancer. Any lone passerby who intruded on the Trash Queen’s territory was promptly burned or crushed in a landfill.

 Indeed, Roo was often looked down upon due to her roles in Hell. She was a rebel and a delinquent, with a ferocious side that often longed to break free…in this case it did.

 “Satisfied?” Roo asked the creature.

 The chaotic being chittered and rumbled in confirmation. It scurried over to her on its legs before stopping at her feet. The white and black appendages retracted into itself, along with the spikes. Its worm-like body wagged and wiggled, like it was ready to pounce, but it wasn’t in an aggressive way. The eye blinked several times. Roo knew what it wanted. Roo opened her mouth again and the creature sprang back into the mouth of its host. The body and tail vanished down her throat before she closed her mouth. Roo felt more energy and nutrients flow through her. She felt the creature curl up in her core and settle down. Roo’s tail and demonic features retracted as she turned back to her default form.

 The parasite would always need to feed every day, least it start gnawing at Roo’s insides after too long. Fortunately, Roo was diligent in caring for the creature. It couldn’t endure Hell’s heat and dryness for too long, so it lived in the more habitable environment inside Roo. The creature shared Roo’s common diet of blood and meat...the typical demon diet. Roo couldn’t remember when she had first made contact with the thing, but ever since then, it never left.

 A pleased and full Roo made her way out of the club and out onto the street. Blood stained her mouth and clothes but it could easily be washed later on. Nearby, a dumpster exploded from one of the red shaped bombs thrown by Cherri Bomb. Roo casually watched the battle between Sir Pentious and his Egg minions versus Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb.

 “Hell will be mine!” declared the snake inventor villain from inside his ship.  She was dressed elegantly in a gray suit with yellow stripes with a matching gray top hat with an eye and sharp yellow teeth like its owner. “And everybody will know the name of Sir…”

 “Edgelord!” a voice taunted.

 “Pardon?! Who said that?” he demanded.

 He leaned in close to two Egg Bois and hissed. “What did you just say to me, you fried chicken fetuses?!”

 The eggs quivered.

 “Speak up!” he hissed.

 “Um it wasn’t us, Mr. Bossman!” said an egg.

 Just then, a bomb shaped like a red cherry with a black skull on it, crashed through the window, flipped through the air and landed with a few bounces on the floor. The fuse was lit and a spark traveled down the wire. Sir Pentious and the eggs flinched before the bomb exploded into thick red clouds of smoke. Sir Pentious coughed and shook his head.

 “You looking for a fight, old man?” asked Cherri Bomb with a grin.

 She was a white cyclops demon with blonde and pink hair tied back into a long ponytail. She wore a high pink boot with white stripes on it on her left foot and a white and pink sock on her right foot. She had long black leggings with holes in them. Merging into her leggings on top was a pink bottom with white circles on it. Her medium pink crop top was short and was looped over her left shoulder, with a black bra underneath. A black x was shown on the crop top over her left breast. She wore black fingerless gloves that extended to her elbows, black on the left arm, gray with stripes and hearts on her right arm. A large pink eye with a yellow x on it took up much of her face, along with a grin of sharp white teeth. Freckles dotted her pale skin.

 Cherri Bomb was catching another bomb in her right hand.

 “Why don’t you get that pathetic tinker toy bullshit off my turf before I smash it…”

 A barrel crashed to the floor…

 “…more.” She finished.

 “Oh, you wanna go miss?” asked the snake. He flipped back his hood. “Well, I’d be happy to oblige!” He laughed as the Egg Bois marched forward with stun guns.

 “Catch me if you can, snakeman!”

 Cherri dodged the blasts and jumped out of the ship. She landed with a graceful flip on the ground before running off to summon more bombs and explosives.

 “I like my eggs scrambled!” she declared, after brutally stomping on several eggs in her way. Cherri dodged green laser blasts from Sir Pentious’ blaster and threw an egg with a spin into Sir Pentious’ face. An egg held a flag that said “Boss’s number one fan.”

 Sir Pentious threw the egg back but Cherri threw another bomb and caught the egg with both hands. She cracked the egg in half with a swift knee jab. She lifted up the shells and enclosed the bomb inside. The egg flew back at Sir Pentious’ face in a blast of smoke.

 “This woman has some great spunk,” Roo thought.

 Soon, Angel Dust stomped on an egg and joined the fight. A pink explosion went off as Cherri and Angel continued to fight. Cherri held a metal gun while Angel took cover behind a rock.

 “Hey, thanks for the backup, Angie,” Cherri said.

 Angel Dust smiled and threw a bomb over his shoulder. Cherri fired a red blast from the cannon. A pink explosion followed.

 “Haha! Are you kidding? This is the best action I’ve seen in ages!”

 “Where’ve you been, anyway? I thought you up and died or some shit.”

 She removed a fuse with a loop on it from a bomb.

 “Oh I wish,” Angel replied, as he lit another bomb with a match. Cherri took a bomb with a light pink skull on it from Angel.

 Angel continued. “I’ve been staying at this crappy hotel on the other side of town.”

 Cherri threw the bomb and took cover beside Angel.

 “Some boards are letting me stay rent free if I play nice,” Angel said. Both of them covered their ears as the bomb exploded in a column of neon green smoke. They jumped over the rock and out into the open.

  Angel blasted continuous rounds of gunfire at oncoming egg bois.

 “Ya know, no fights, no pranks, no problematic, language. Her words, not mine.”

  He stomped on the ground, sending an egg boi flying into the sky toward the pentagram before it exploded in a yok mess.

 Angel held a club in one of his other hands.

 “These crazy bitches are no fun. I’ve been clean for two weeks!”

 Another bomb exploded in green clouds as Cherri skidded in the background. “Holy shit!” she called as she jumped back into action, with two bombs in her hands.

 Angel Dust was covered in egg yok. He dipped a finger in yok from his cheek. “Well, sorta clean,” he grinned. He smashed an egg to bits with his club.

 “As clean as you can get with a shitload of Bolivian marching powder.”

 Just then, black chains wrapped tightly around Angel’s waist. Cherri gasped as her friend was thrown hard to the ground a distance away by Sir Pentious.

 Angel landed and grinned.

 “Oh, harder daddy,” he teased in a flirtatious tone.

 Sir Pentious’ eyes teared up. “Son?!”

 Angel Dust raised his eyebrows and stared in disbelief.

 Cherri Bomb drop kicked Sir Pentious, knocking him to the ground. He hissed in anger and stood up.

 “You whores have no class! In war, the side remembered is the side with the most…style.” He sprang his bow tie for emphasis.

 “Or the side that ain’t dead,” Cherri retorted, breaking an egg boi in half and tossing it aside. Angel stood beside her, now free.

 “Speaking of style, is your hat like, alive or something?” Angel asked, wiggling his glowed fingers.

 “Well that’s none of your goddamn business, now is it?!” Sir Pentious retorted.

 “Wouldn’t that make your hat the top and you the bottom?”

 Angel and Cherri burst into laughter. “Ooooh,” said one of the eggs. “That’s one hellish burn.” A sign reading “loser” was pointed at Sir Pentious. Sir Pentious slapped the minion.

 “I’m gonna blow you to bits!” he declared at them.

 “Oh, kinky,” Angel grinned.

 “Not like that, pervert!” Sir Pentious yelled, pointing a finger.

 Angel Dust suddenly pushed Cherri out of the way as an Egg Boi behind him shot four black claws with eyes at Angel from a gun. The claws grabbed Angel’s wrists, preventing him from escaping.

 Sir Pentious grinned. “Not so cocky now, are we?”

 “Ya know, you really need to watch what comes out of your mouth,” Angel remarked. “I’ve been making these sex jokes this whole time.”

 Angel Dust narrowly dodged a metal spike coming out of the ground.

 “And it’s obvious you ain’t catching on. I mean it’s just sad!”

 Angel Dust grew two extra arms and there were guns in his hands. He blasted at Sir Pentious, freeing himself. Sir Pentious’ hat fell off.

 “Don’t you think you’re gonna get into a lot of trouble for this?” Cherri asked, walking sideways.

 Angel shrugged and retracted his extra arms. “Eh. What’s one more little brawl gonna cause?”

 “Glad you haven’t changed!” Cherri said, playfully elbowing him. “You know you’re my favorite guy to party with!”

 “You know it, sugar tits,” he replied.

 Cherri Bomb rolled another bomb over her shoulders before catching it. “You ready to finish this?”

 Angel clicked his gun. “Born ready, baby!”

 The two of them yelled as they charged at Sir Pentious. Sir Pentious eventually fled and Angel went off to ride in a white limbo to the hotel. Cherri sang as music played from her Walkman: “Hello, dad, hello mom, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch, cherry bomb!”

 A few days later, Roo saw Cherri Bomb again and hid behind a wall to watch. This time she didn’t appear to be as happy and wild.

 Cherri Bomb thought back to when she comforted Angel Dust in bed after he had a rough night with Valentino. After that had happened, she blew up an advertisement sign with Valentino’s face on it. The face of her ex boyfriend would often come back to her: a man wearing white overalls, him having a gray face with a single hypnotizing eye, white hair, a spiked hat and an evil stitched up grin. The critical eyes of her brother and father also stared at her in her mind.

 Like other sinners, Cherri had been former human as well, having been born in the 60s in Australia and dying in the 80s at young adulthood from an explosion. Her sexuality was rumored to be bi, and she had been a radical rocker redhead feminist as a human.

 Cherri had fallen in love with another guy, who promised her money and power. But instead, he took advantage of her. Her father disapproved of both her rebellious behavior…and her bisexuality. Cherri’s boyfriend had kept the money for himself, while her father criticized her for her behavior and the friends she hung out with.

 It was all pretty much a repeat of what had happened in her living life…except without the dying by explosions bit.

 Cherri wondered how Angel Dust was faring with his Italian mafia family. Angel got along with his bubbly pink spider sister Molly, while he remained distant from his authoritative grey father Henroin and recluse black colored brother Arackniss. His white spider mother, Aranea, was in Heaven. Angel and his family had previously lived in New York when they were alive. Angel’s father did not approve of Angel leaving the mafia to pursue his porn star career and living life (and death) as a gay man. With being stuck under a contract from the moth pimp Valentino plus his addiction of drugs, drinking and the angel dust drug that had previously killed him, it seemed like the white spider had no way out.

  Cherri sat down on a ledge and opened up her laptop. She wished she could do more to help out her friend. Roo peered off, hidden by the wall. She crept forward to get a closer look. The VoxTube video on the computer read “Addict: Angel Dust At Peep Show/Cherri Bomb In Action.” The video had been filmed by officials at Hell Club 666.

 Angel and Cherri’s voice came from Cherri’s laptop, showing Angel Dust performing at a strip club, Valentino greedily watching. Angel stood as a silhouette against a glowing pink web with a heart on it. Angel spun several times around the pole.

 Angel’s voice came first as he sang:

 “’Till death do us part, but we’re already past that phase

This is a brand new start and I think I deserve some praise

For the way that I am

Despite having overdosed and ending up comatose

I don’t give a damn”

 Valentino eagerly watched the show from a couch, two furry women beside him. Valentino’s red smoke from his cigarette morphed into a hand that stroked Angel under his chin. Angel walked down the stairs and strolled down the aisle.

 “I’ve let my emotions go,

Fuck being a sober hoe

This is my mantra, this is my life

You’re playing with now ‘till the end of the night

Surrounded by fire, the passion ignites”

 Angel kicked a drooling Travis in the face with his boot.

 Valentino’s red smoke turned into manacles around his wrists and neck for a brief second. Angel inhaled the hearts in the smoke, then lay down and posed some more. A crowd of imps and demons watched, throwing money at Angel.  

 The video did not show Cherri Bomb comforting Angel in his room, though she remembered that clearly.

 “A hint of that Heaven and Hell, a helluva high”

 “I’m addicted to the madness

This hotel is my Atlantis”

 Hotel? What hotel? Roo was confused.

 “We’re forever gonna have a fucking reason to sin

Let me leave my soul to burn and I’ll be breathing it in”

 Angel pushed a beer bottle off the aisle. The camera moved to a ground burning with green flames. Cherri stood up on the roof, tossing a metal bomb in her hand. She leapt from roof to roof in the rain, throwing bombs to her heart’s content. She spun around and fired a bomb at a Valentino sign after flipping the bird.

 Cherri Bomb then sang in the video next, Cherri cringing at hearing her recorded voice:

 “I’m addicted to the feeling…”

 Then the video skipped to Angel Dust climbing the pole:

 “…getting higher than the ceiling

And we’re never gonna want this fucking feeling to end”

 Skipping back to Cherri swinging from a pole on the roof…

 “Just concede and give in to your inner demons again.”

 “This video editing is marvelous,” Cherri breathed. “Though I’m gonna blow the person who spied on me to bits.”

 The video then showed Valentino’s red limo driving in the rain. The one who filmed the video did not know what went on inside the limo. Valentino’s female clients kissing. Angel sitting next to Valentino, holding just enough money to get by. Valentino counting his money and grabbing Angel’s hand hard, forcing him to look up. Valentino gripping him hard by his chin. His tongue was out in front of Angel. He wanted Angel to kiss him, but Angel flinched away. Valentino forcefully pulled him in closer as the car kept driving.

 Only Cherri knew of Angel throwing his wine glass against the wall in his room, then collapsing in a tearful heap against his bed.

 The video switched bold letters read at the bottom: “Cherri captured singing on roof.”

 Roo listened as Cherri sang next, her eyes widening in admiration. Despite Cherri’s tendency to blow stuff up and be vicious, she had a kind side to her. And oh was her singing voice beautiful!

 “Yeah, you fell in love, but you fell deeper in this pit

While death rains from above, so count your blessings ‘cause this is it”

 Cherri leaned against a ledge as it rained. She walked over a puddle among broken green bottles. That day, Cherri had imagined her father’s face in the water…the memories not leaving. She fiddled with a bomb before flicking it to the ground. It exploded in a flash of pink. For some reason, Roo hated seeing this stranger sad.

 Cherri turned around and twirled on the roof.

  “You’re not letting it go

So what if I misbehave? It’s what everybody craves

You already know

So, come if you’re feeling brave and fancy yourself a mate

You want it, I got it, see what you like

We could have it all by the end of the night

Your money and power, my sinful delight

A hint of that Heaven and Hell, a helluva high”

 Cherri twirled around in front of a green neon sign that read Addict. TNT crates, round bombs and bundles of red fuses wrapped up surrounded the sign. Cherri loved seeing all those bombs everywhere. Already, she had felt more powerful and confident. She took out a lighter switch, pressed the button and everything blew up in pink smoke. Cherri dove off the roof, belly first, arms out with a grin on her face and spun as the video faded to white.

 “Don’t worry, she ain’t dead!” read the words against the screen. Cherri had to laugh a little at that part.

 Cherri and Angel would often imagine themselves dancing at an aquarium club, themed blue and pink before running out together and blowing it up. They would get ready in their dressing rooms before going on stage. She would be wearing a single yellow star over her eye, a cyclops version of sun glasses.  Cherri imagined herself twirling around, throwing bombs at the tables and chairs. A pink coat would be over her shoulders, reading “Cherri” on it and decorated with red cherries. And Angel Dust would be dancing beside her in tall boots, glasses, pink gloves, and a tight black corset outfit. They would spin around the poles and have a blast…immersed in pure freedom.

 But both Angel and Cherri knew…that it was all a dream.

 Cherri could almost hear her and Angel singing together.

 “I’m addicted to the madness

This hotel is my Atlantis

We’re forever gonna have a fucking reason to sin

Let me leave my soul to burn and I’ll be breathing it in

I’m addicted to the feeling, getting higher than the ceiling

And we’re never gonna want this fucking feeling to end

Just concede and give in to your inner demons again”

 “Just concede and give in to your inner demons again.”

I’m addicted to the feeling, getting higher than the ceiling

And we’re never gonna want this fucking feeling to end

Just concede and give in to your inner demons again”

 There was something else that only Angel Dust knew. The moment at the hotel when Charlie tried to comfort him, but he declined and turned his back on her. Other than Cherri, he had no reason to risk trusting anyone else. In addition, he had only known Charlie for a short time. He walked into his bedroom, and there was his pet pig, Fat Nuggets, looking up at him, his spots briefly glowing pink in the dark. A neon “love” sign was on the wall, along with clothes and porn magazines. There was a poster of fat Nuggets on the wall. His room had wigs on stands and several mirrors with round lights around the frames, like those at the studio. Angel picked up the pig and stared into the mirror.

 Helpless…

 A horrible flashback seared into Angel Dust’s mind: him wearing fluffy handcuffs and being anally raped by a grinning Valentino in the porn studio dressing room. Angel froze in fear before walking toward his bed. He threw away a partially used cigarette into an ashtray. The angel dust, the drugs, the porn, and money…all were highs that he had been addicted to for years…but the pleasure was only temporary. The pleasure only masked the pain for so long, until it came back with an aching soreness. The smoke revealed a broken heart.

 “I’m addicted to the sorrow, and the buzz ends by tomorrow

There’s another rush of poison flowing into my veins

Giving me a dose of pleasure that resides by the pain

I’m addicted, I’m dependent

Looking, awesome, feeling helpless”

 He knew he would have to face a terrible decision: stay in Hell with Valentino, or stay at the Hazbin Hotel and try to redeem himself. Risk disappointment from his boss, or painfully change his habits for a promise of unknown freedom. But giving up violence, porn and drugs, the major parts of his life? Easier said than done. Giving up two of his arms surely sounded easier.

 Angel wasn’t sure what caused him to throw away the cigarette early. Perhaps he knew that it was somehow “wrong” and decided to give his body a break.

  Hopefully, he would be safe at the hotel for now, with some new friends. Fat Nuggets sensed his distress and licked him under his chin. Angel smiled. At least he had his pet with him too.

 “And I know I’m raising cane by every highway in hell

Maybe things won’t be so terrible inside this hotel.”

 Cherri Bomb sighed, closed her laptop and walked away. This just left Roo awed by her appearance and full of more questions in her mind.

 Where was she from? What was that hotel…could it be the same one that the princess talked about?

 Roo sighed and headed back home. “Hopefully, I’ll find out.”

     Chapter Two: Let’s Blow This Dump

 Back in her underground lair, Roo relaxed in her rectangular swimming pool of blood. In the room stood a wide array of plants, many of them with drooping leaves in multiple layers. The window consisted of glass shards of multiple colors fused together in a scattered design. On the white brick wall flanked by round lights was a large painting of the Australian outback. In it, the sky was blue and under it were tall signature red rocks on a dessert ground.

 Roo sank her head of wild hair into the lukewarm liquid, the strong metallic scent filling her nose. Like other swimming pools in Hell, the “goreine” chlorine in the water made the blood undrinkable. Her white freckled legs and body were barely noticeable in the murky liquid.

 Her mind was reeling over the events of the last several days. She had seen Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb fight Sir Pentious in an action-packed turf war without being noticed. Then again, not many demons wanted to notice her in the first place…or worse, get noticed by her. Like the kangaroo, Roo appeared strange and exotic at first glance. But whoever got too close was in for a rough beat down, and a most certain second death if she so wished.

 Just the other day, she had glimpsed at the video on Cherri Bomb’s laptop. She had no reason nor real desire to waste her time, but she stayed nonetheless. Roo figured out that Charlie’s hotel, was indeed, taking in clients for free to try and get them on the right path. Though Roo overheard Angel Dust saying that he was only staying because it was free. Would this Cherri Bomb person stay there as well?

 Roo kept asking herself why she had been so curious about Cherri. Perhaps it was the spunky, rebellious side to her that was hardly seen in many women…at least in her previous life. To be able to just summon bombs from her hands like magic…Roo wondered why she couldn’t create balls of fire or gold from hers. Then again, she did have a bottomless pouch and a parasite, so she wasn’t one to complain.

 And the video left her with more questions. Could a rehab hotel actually work, or was it just a rubbish rumor?

 Roo decided to brush the issue aside. True or not, it was of no concern to her. Demons could choose what they wanted to do and live their lives…provided they did not interfere with hers.

 Sighing, Roo stepped up the concrete stairs, shook off the blood drops from her skin, and wrapped herself in a black towel. She walked through the arched tunnels and climbed up the small slope to the dunny to wash up and do her business. She walked back down, dressed in thick brown clothes and a face mask.

 It was time to go to work.

 Roo strode toward a factory building, which was spewing endless black smoke out from a group of tall towering chimney pipes. She made her way to the double doors, which opened up in a cringe-worthy screeching sound.

 Roo took her place among other demons dressed in brown clothing, masks and gloves. In front of them was a conveyer belt and in the wall were large black pipes. A buzzer sounded and loads of trash fell through the holes and landed in a heap in front of the workers. The demons got busy, rummaging through the piles for items of value. There were boxes off to the right of each worker with different labels: precious metals, gems, weapons, recyclables, demon remains. The rest of the plastic and trash were pushed to the left into a slot where a lever would be pulled, sending it to the incinerator.

 “Come on, come on, you filthy sinning fetuses! Keep working!” called an employee with clapping claws. Adama. She was a tall woman with skin made of diamonds. She wore a long green skirt and a white top with her name tag and the company logo. Her coal-colored hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She was Hell Born, and loved treating sinners as the second class citizens they were. “You still have thirteen more hours to go! But don’t worry, your ten minute break will be in half that time.”

 Every hour, burly horned demon guards would patrol the area, some of them whipping the backs of the workers who slacked off. Roo herself got a few lashes when she found herself daydreaming. She tried not to cry out, for that would only elicit more whips and taunts. Her claws and hands were grimy and dirty, almost losing their usual whiteness.

 Between this job, prostitution and homelessness, Roo had chosen this laborious task in order to survive when she first manifested in Hell. Her hard work and a few lucky times allowed her to build her underground home and buy clothes, food and other necessities.

 Hour after hour Roo trudged and rummaged away. When her fellow employees weren’t looking, she opened her mouth, allowing the minion to peer through and slither out silently. It used its bladed legs and mouth to dig through big piles of trash. The creature opened its mouth to reveal several bullets. Roo grinned and placed them in the weapons box. She slurped the creature up before anyone noticed…though her boss shot her suspicious looks and narrowed eyes.

 “Unruly piece of scum,” Adama muttered, as she walked along, just loud enough for Roo to hear.

 The heat in Hell was unbearable enough, but having to stand near burning incinerators was almost torture. Sweat coated Roo’s forehead and under her arms…the heavy clothing wasn’t helping much. After several hours, the parasite pushed and kicked at her insides, begging to be let loose and to feed. She used her willpower to hold it down for as long as she could. She needed a smoke break, bad. After a brief lunch break of rotten meat and overcooked vegetables, the workers took their positions again.

 The boss wandered over to a small demon, who glanced at her nervously.

 “What have you got?”

 The demon pointed at the boxes with a shaking finger.

 “Hmm,” Adama said, observing the findings. “Only one piece of metal and a smelly old container? Those aren’t going to be worth selling in a blizzard. Give me more results at once.”

 “But…I’m tired,” the demon complained.

 The boss snickered and leaned in. “You’re tired? Is that right?”

 Adama mentioned to the other workers. “You hear him, he’s tired!” She spoke to him. “You were hired, you’re now tired. You know what comes next?”

 The demon gulped.

 The woman took out a coin. ”The answer: you will be fired! But how will that go, exactly?”

 She rubbed the coin in-between her fingers, everyone looking nervous.

 “Heads for you, tails for your home. Same goes for all.”

 One other worker had her home burned down after she tried to run away during her shift. The guards had caught her and brought her before Adama. The boss had flipped the coin to tails and she became homeless…resulting in working more hours.

 The coin flipped in the air, all eyes watching it. The coin landed in the boss’s clear palm. She grinned rows of glassy teeth.

 “Heads up!”

 Oh no.

 Two horned guards wearing gas masks over their faces picked up the demon by his arms, his screams and struggling doing him no good.

 Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

 A lever was pulled and a metal hatch opened up to a low shaft. A shaft of flames. A steep fall into a burning pit with nothing in the walls to hold onto.

 “No, no, no, stop!” the demon begged, as he was dragged forward. In swift motions, the yelling demon was thrown by the guards through the opening, his yelling growing fainter as he fell into the fiery pit. The hatch closed with a clang of finality.

 “Fuck,” Roo breathed, clutching at her stomach and head. She ignored the staring eyes around her.

 Roo’s heart appeared to stop (again). She hunched over, her body and arms shaking. The windowless room and heat appeared to suffocate her, the walls appeared to close in. The flashes burst into her head as she stared at the flames through another opening.

 Running like crazy from police footsteps. Maneuvering her way through a factory. The yells of her sister as officers closed in. Jumping onto a pile of trash to avoid being arrested. Her feet slipping on paper and junk, sliding down into a lower level. A man shoving her further away among the junk, for her dumping his girlfriend’s body. Her sister screaming her name as she struggled to free herself. The metal and scraps cutting into her skin as she struggled to free herself. Being pinned down by the crushing debris. Screaming for her family as she was moved mechanically into an incinerator and burned alive…

 “Is there a problem here, Miss Roo?”

 Roo jolted back up, and stared into the stone cold grey eyes of her boss.

 “N-n-no mam’,” she responded.

 “Let me see the boxes and your pouch.”

 Roo moved aside as the woman looked through the boxes.

 “Several bullets, containers with no toxic elements. Lots of steel scraps. Not too bad.”

 Roo pulled out the part of the gold necklace, some souls, an old box of cigarettes and several empty beer cans in reasonable condition.

 Adama scrutinized her findings, placing a finger to the smooth surface of her chin.

 “You got lucky this time,” she said, as she gathered the objects into a larger box. “These items will do at the market. But one of these days, you or your home will get burned to a crisp. Not that anyone else would care, seeing as you’re a dessert dwelling lowlife who got lucky.”

 “Bitch,” Roo seethed.

 “What was that?”

 “Nothing, mam’.”

 A growling sound rumbled in Roo’s throat. She could feel the slender body of the creature trying to climb out. She gripped her own throat, pushing it back down.

 The boss grit her teeth. “I’ve see you with your creature friend. Don’t even think about attacking me or anybody else with it. My skin can withstand sharp objects and teeth.” She took the half gold necklace and stuffed it into her shirt.

 Then she mentioned to everyone, “Remember, anyone who finds an angelic weapon will receive a double raise and a higher position. Count yourselves lucky that you don’t have to slave away in the mines…yet! Now get back to work.”

  Roo’s legs and back were throbbing and sore by the time she arrived back home. It had taken her months to create it. To imagine it being burned away…gut-wrenching. She’d have to start all over. Scratch that, it would be all over for her. Trash piles could only help hide her so much. She would be homeless and at the mercy of predatory demons. Single homeless demons were pretty much fresh meat. She wouldn’t let that happen…she couldn’t. But how much longer could she keep working, when her boss practically wanted her to fail?

 Roo climbed up the stairs and freely fell onto the dirty mattress. It was the one where she briefly had sex with another male demon, before using her minion to devour him. It had been a most wonderful night.

 She stripped herself of the sweaty uniform before putting it in a hamper to wash later. She went to the bathroom to take a shower, before putting on some looser, lighter clothing: a torn black ACDC t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a spiked collar around her neck. More chain necklaces were draped around her neck. On her couch, she casually played an Australian didgeridoo decorated red and black like a snake. Traditionally only men would play the didgeridoo in ceremonies but in Hell, she was free to do as she wished. Feeling a gnawing in her stomach, Roo placed the instrument down and raced outside through the exit door.

 She couldn’t lose her home. Not the place where she was free to be herself and alone. Sure, Roo had her minion with her if she became homeless, but if it were to be captured, it would eventually die. If her minion were to die…she knew that she would get very sick. Her minion did more than just kill other demons and dig through trash…it helped defend her and keep her alive. With Roo having a compromised immune system, the parasite healed her wounds and attacked any viruses that entered her body. In exchange, Roo provided the creature with her body, a portion of her energy and daily food. The creature would reluctantly remain still and let Roo’s food be digested…most of the time.

 In the past, Roo had tried keeping the creature in her pouch…but it didn’t like the dry, cluttered environment.

 And speaking of which…

 “Urgh! Stop it!” Roo seethed as the beast racked through her body and squirmed from within her gut. The beast’s thick fur and spikes prevented her gut bacteria from absorbing it. The creature began eating up the walls of her stomach, and some of the stomach bacteria. The long hours of work and the hunger of the beast were coming back with a vengeance.

 She doubled down on her knees, nearly throwing up. The beast was hungry and wanted out. Having no choice, Roo opened her mouth wide, spewing out the creature in streams of dark spit and blood. The orange slick body grew white spider-like legs and the rough black clawed appendages with the eyes blinking in them. With shrieks and a clanking of its legs, the monster scurried off and attacked several demons nearby.

 The monster came back around ten minutes later, satisfied and coated in blood. Roo opened her mouth and the creature dashed inside before disappearing down her throat.

 Roo arrived home and began to play her didgeridoo again on the couch, this time playing an Australian Aboriginal tune she had learned when she was alive. She was amazed that she could still remember the song, let alone her past life.

 Arranged on a shelf in the kitchen were bottles of different herbs she used for cooking, healing, and make-up. Roo walked over and ground up several green leaves after removing them from the shelf, making a tea. The warm finished liquid was soothing for her stomach. Tucked in a shadow corner of a shelf were bottles with poison ivy, wormwood, and other deadly herbs to use on enemies. Lacing demon’s drinks with poisonous substances was a favorite pastime. There were even some fan shaped marijuana leaves in a jar that she occasionally used when smoking.

 Many outsiders, both on Earth and in Hell only saw Roo as a trash picker and vicious killer. But many did not know that Roo had other hobbies: singing, dancing, playing Australian instruments and working with herbs. She also enjoyed alternative fashion and art. Although Roo was somewhat clumsy in her dancing and screechy in her singing, she still enjoyed them very much. After taking several sips of her tea, Roo played a nearby guitar as she sang:

 “The downtrodden at the mercy of their fates

Burning in inferno, alone with no mates

Surrounded by rubbish, stuck in a bin

Living a life of sin, but no way to win”

 “What determines our new lives from the start?

Who would’ve thought my behavior could drift others apart?

I can feel my afterlife slowly burning away

Yeah there’s no other way, but to pray and stay”

 Roo, oh Roo

Whatever must you do

To keep your belly full and your mind intact

What to do, Roo, it’s all up to you

You’re stuck here forever, that’s just a fact”

  Roo had learned a quick lesson once she arrived in Hell: in order to survive, demons would have to know how to kill and use weapons…plus know how to sing, dance and/or play music. One had to be good at self-defense while also finding a way to get their points across, a.k.a. singing. Slaughtering and entertainment were the two essential things that would get demons further along in Hell. One had to be good at both. One could look at such examples as jazz loving Alastor, Angel Dust, Cherri Bomb, the ever musical Charlie and her parents to see how important these skills were.

 Perhaps the reason why the majority of demons killed, sang and danced were due to Lucifer himself. He enjoyed polka music and his family were also experts in the creative arts. Music and song, along with fashionable dress were excellent ways to both pass the time and to display a higher status. The two songs and dances that Charlie performed, along with the Alastor one, were just the beginning.

    A rumbling sound was soon heard from overhead. There were sounds of scurrying and the sounds of metal and plastic being scrapped around from outside.

 “Who the hell decided to visit me?” Roo thought, her claws extending into sharp black points.

 From the footsteps coming from many directions, it appeared to be more than one person.

 Blast. It was probably her boss and her cronies arriving to punish her. Could she never catch a break?

 Roo stepped outside and squinted into the sudden red light. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

 What she saw wasn’t her boss, but rather…round moving eggs? They were dressed in small pinstriped suits around their lower halves along with mini black top hats on their heads. The eggs had eyes and large mouths with jazzed edges that served as teeth. They moved on small legs and had small arms. Roo punched one of the eggs and it exploded in a yok mess around her.

 “Yuck,” she muttered.

 The Egg Bois were currently digging through the trash piles nearby, and carrying scraps of metal with them!

 “Hey! That stuff is not your own! The fuck are you doing on my turf?”

 She heard laughter from nearby. There was Sir Pentious himself holding a gun with a green electricity inside it. He was flanked by a dozen Egg Bois holding stun guns.

 The Industrial Revolution snake turned and looked at her, his fangs bared in a sinister smile.

 “Well, well, well, look what the rat dragged in today! What’re you doing in this filth, worm?”

 “FYI, I live here, bastard. Why are you so keen to barge into my turf?”

 Sir Pentious made a face and scoffed. “You call this your turf? I’ve seen homeless scum have more class than you. And to answer your question, I’m in need of some more metal and parts to repair my blimp. The one that cursed Alastor managed to destroy.”

 Alastor…she had heard his name before. Thankfully, she had never encountered the infamous Radio Demon.

 “You’re an inventor right?”

 “Why yes I am,” Sir Pentious replied, puffing his chest. “Only the greatest of my time! What’s it to you?”

 “Can’t you just gather parts somewhere else?”

 “I could, but I’m in a bit of a hurry, and a bad mood after what happened earlier,” he seethed, revealing a chipped fang and a swollen eye.

 “Ouch,” Roo remarked.

Sir Pentious hissed. “You mock me while living in this dump? What a filthy whore you are.”

 “The fuck did you just call me?”

 “Would you like me to say it again, in case you didn’t hear me?”

 “Boss,” said Egg #22. “I think the trash lady heard you just fine!”

 “Never you mind,” he spat, giving his minion a glare.

 “No need. You’ll be saying nothing after…this!” Roo declared, her mouth opening wide.

 “Bring it, missy!” Sir Pentious hissed, turning to his minions. “Get her!”

 The eggs scrambled towards her on their little feet and legs. Roo took hold of a nearby pipe and swiped several times at the eggs. The Egg Bois were sent flying into the air forwards before rolling on the ground as they fell. One egg trued to bite her leg but she kicked it away with a powerful roundhouse. Her fists shot through several more eggs before white and yellow egg yok splattered all over her face and clothes. Roo’s long tongue licked off the goop with a slurp.

 “You know, I’d much prefer meat. And I’d be more than willing to try snake!”

 One egg watched as he waved a flag in his hand that read “Boss’s #1 fan.” Roo’s parasite helped with attacking the eggs and keeping them at bay. Several eggs were lifting up a shiny piece of metal and scurrying toward their boss.

 “Oh no you don’t!” She whirled around and threw a rock in their direction. The stone clanged against the metal, causing the eggs to fumble with the piece. The Eggs and metal were sent flying with one swipe of Roo’s powerful tail. One egg managed to bite down into her tail and another fired a blast that impacted her foot.

 “Damn it!” she cursed, swishing her tail around to get the egg off. A jet of green energy narrowly missed her as it created a smoking hole in a trash pile next to her head.

 “Come out and face me, missy,” Sir Pentious called. “Or are you just gonna scurry back into your hole?”

 Another blast shook the ground, causing Roo to almost lose her balance. In fury, she raced out and attacked other eggs around her. The turf war went on for what seemed like hours. More and more eggs kept arriving and Roo was already starting to get worn out. Even her parasite was having trouble killing so many eggs at once. Sir Pentious shot a blast at the orange creature and it shrieked in pain, releasing the captured Egg Bois.

 “Not so tough now, huh?” he grinned, tongue flickering out as he advanced.

 “No, no, no, no,” she thought in frustration as she saw several more eggs carry off metal and tools back to the remains of Sir Pentious’ ship. They threw the scraps into a large cart before wheeling it away. Roo punched more Egg Bois and scurried behind more trash piles to avoid blasts from the Egg Bois’ guns and Sir Pentious’ blasts. Roo jumped high into the air to avoid a larger blast from Sir Pentious’ gun. The trash pile she had been taking cover behind, exploded in a flash of green smoke. One of the Egg Bois shot a claw from another gun. Roo managed to avoid several of the traps in midair before a third cable made her trip. She fell to the ground and rolled over as the Egg Bois closed in. Her arms were suddenly held back by more clawed cables. She struggled to free herself before a brief shock of electricity made her flinch back. Nearby, her parasite was also trapped in the black cables.

 The serpent villain slithered over to her, yellow eyes glowing, fangs showing against his menacing shadow figure. Fear was evident in her eyes as Sir Pentious aimed his blaster at her not too far away. There was no way he could miss now.

 “Any last wordssss?” he grinned.

 Roo lowered her head before opening her mouth. “Edgelord!” was spoken.

 “What did you just say to me?!”

 “I didn’t say anything…”

 Just then, a familiar slender cyclops woman did a graceful leap over the barbed wire fence, landing gracefully on the ground between Roo and Sir Pentious.

 “Still looking to fight, old man?” she asked. She threw a pink bomb in his face, pink smoke spreading in the air. Sir Pentious coughed through the smoke and waved his hand to clear it away. The woman kicked the eggs away and the cables fell away from her hands, freeing her.

 “Thought you could use some help,” she said.

 Roo didn’t have the chance to reply before the smoke cleared.

 “You again!” Sir Pentious yelled. ‘You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

 “Giving up’s not in my vocabulary. I must ask, is being a lord of shit in yours?”

“Arugh!” he growled in anger. “Both of you are dead!”

 “I know,” Cherri smirked. “How about we find out if you can die again!”

 “I’m better than you at words and lifestyle. I’m quite the epic dabber!” Sir Pentious exclaimed before his Egg Bois collectively groaned in response.

 “Man, ego inflation much?” Roo shook her head.

 Cherri summoned more bombs in her hands, tossing them at oncoming Egg Bois. Roo and Cherri exchanged smiles and knowing looks. It was time to heat things up.

 Roo jumped and bounced in the air like a kangaroo over toward her minion. A few swipes of her claws snapped the cables in half, freeing her parasite. The creature roared aloud before scurrying on its metal legs in the path of several Egg Bois. The blades and tendrils contacted with the eggs, slicing them, squishing them or biting them.

 “I like my eggs scrambled!” Cherri exclaimed as she beat an egg to death with a nailed filled club in her hands. “Seriously, does Sir Pentious shit you guys out or does he have a chick for that? No matter, I’ll juts poach more of you eggs!”

 “I could do for some fried eggs myself,” Roo grinned as she barreled into more eggs and stomped several into the ground. The good news was that no more eggs were stealing any more metal and useful junk.

 “Ha! I haven’t seen this many dying eggs since that sperm bank got robbed!” Cherri danced around the Egg Bois trying to shoot her. “You really think you can take me with your pea-cock shooters? Get it?”

 “Hey,” Roo called to Cherri. “Thanks for the backup!”

 “Don’t mention it,” she replied. “That Edgelord manic has been invading my territory for a while now. He almost got it as well. But even if he does…I’ll make sure he doesn’t get yours.”

 “You don’t know me,”Roo inquired. “Why stop to help anyway?”

 “I figured, why not? Angel Dust helped me out during the last one. Figured I could pass the time and shit.”

 “What do you do for hobbies?” Roo asked.

 “Blow stuff up, obviously,” Cherri answered. “Plus go shopping with Angel Dust, maybe go for a drink. You?”

 “I work with herbs of all kinds. I sing, play music, murder, feast, you name it.”

 “Sounds pretty rad. I’m Cherri Bomb by the way.”

 “Roo,” Roo smiled.

 The parasite lunged at Sir Pentious, but the snake managed to avoid it, sending it away as it avoided more blasts.

 “Ready to finish this?” Roo asked.

 “You bet!” Cherri responded.

 Cherri Bomb and Roo both charged at Sir Pentious, all three of them (plus the creature) yelling at the top of their lungs.

 Roo and the parasite attacked more Egg Bois at a rapid pace, sending them into a retreat. They scurried over to the last cart before driving it away. Sir Pentious was fuming in anger.

 “Don’t get confident, whores. You may have sent us back, but I still got enough parts to do the job. You won’t be so lucky next time!”

 Sir Pentious took one look at Roo and his eyes glowed and spiraled. Roo was so entranced that she didn’t notice the hiss, snap and strike until it was too late. Yellow fangs sank into her neck and Roo cried out with wide eyes. Cherri gasped in concern, throwing several bombs at Sir Pentious. Sir Pentious laughed again as he fled the scene yelling, “Bye, bye bitches!”

 Roo felt her body go numb. Spots danced before her eyes as dizziness took hold. Cherri Bomb held her in her arms, Roo collapsing to the floor, her body suddenly heavy.

 “Oh Isabella!” Roo smiled deliriously.

 “That’s not my name,” Cherri said, taken aback.

 “Roo!” Cherri called in concern as Roo gasped for breath. Roo weakly smiled at Cherri’s beautiful face. She never imagined that a single large eye could hold so many secrets. She had saved her life…a true angel hidden in disguise. Thank Lucifer Roo had left the door unlocked.

 She saw Cherri’s concerned face for a few more seconds before unconsciousness took her.

    Chapter Three: Down In The Dumps

 Roo groggily opened her eyes and found herself staring at the rocky ceiling of her bedroom. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Nothing save for a tall white skinned cyclops casually catching a pink bomb in one of her hands. There was a concerned look on her face.

 “Would ya mind not blowing up me or my house, mate?” she asked, slowly sitting up.

 Cherri’s look of concern vanished, turning into relief. “Oh thank goodness.”

 “What the fuck happened?” Roo muttered. She almost climbed out of bed.

 “Whoa take it easy,” Cherri said, holding out her hands, the previous bomb vanishing. “The venom may have left your system but I don’t think you’re ready to rush out just yet.”

 “How did you…”

 “Thankfully your door was unlocked. I saw you pointing a shaking finger at it between consciousness.”

 She held up an empty jar and a note scrawled on a piece of paper. The paper had directions for crushing a herb to counteract the effects of venom.  

 Roo blinked in disbelief.

 “Yep, your note saved your ass.”

 Roo smiled, staring at her hands, memories rushing back to her. “Wow that was some fight we had!”

 “I know, wasn’t it awesome?! That Edgelord snake thought he could take us down, but he miscalculated as usual.

 “He still managed to knack some of my stuff,” Roo grumbled.

 “It’s no big deal. More trash will arrive here anyway, right?”

 “Good point.”

 Roo slowly stood up, stretching her arms.

 “You good?” Cherri asked. Roo nodded and followed her out to the living room. Roo noticed that she felt…empty.

 “Have you seen…”

 “Oh, that creature of yours?” Cherri asked. She mentioned off to the left of her.

 A banging and clanging sound filled the small kitchen. The parasite was scurrying along the countertops, knocking several items down in search for food.

 “Yeah, that freaky beast tried to enter inside of you…I think the venom may have discouraged it to go any further. I tried to pull it away…”

 The creature suddenly roared when it spotted them and shot itself at Cherri’s face. Cherri screamed, stepping back and flinching. Roo sunk her clawed fingers into the creature, pulling it back with her hands.

 “Hey! Stop that!”

 The creature shrieked in protest.

 “What the fuck is that thing?!” Cherri exclaimed, terrified at have it so close to her.

 “I don’t actually know myself,” Roo admitted. “But I do know that it can get very tempermental if left outside too long with no food.”

 “Then leave it in here for a while,” she suggested.

 “That’s not what I…enough!”

 Roo’s eyes glowed and she spoke in a low demonic voice. The creature shot up its spikes and curled its head in terror. Roo pulled it away from Cherri.

 “Jeez, that was close,” Cherri mentioned. “Now please put that thing back where it came from!”

 Roo nodded and picked up the creature. Her mouth opened wide and she helped slide the creature inside.

 “No, what the fu…oh god!” Cherri made a face at the disgusting display. She closed her one eye until the creature had vanished down her throat.

 Roo looked apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

 Cherri shook her hands and took a breath. “Well, I’ve seen worse sights in my life, so something like this is nothing.”

 Cherri stood up and walked toward the exit door.

 “Where are you going?” Roo asked.

 “I have to get back and check on my bestie Angel Dust,” Cherri explained.

 “Can I come too?”

 “Well, I’d rather not let anyone else see my territory and do know I can still blow you to bits if you try anything.”

 Roo shrugged, looking unfazed. “Even if I did, I would only have my life to lose.”

 “Fair enough.”

 “How about this? Thanks for saving me back there, Cherri. You’re welcome to come back here anytime. I have herbs, some instruments if you like to play sometime.”

 A small smile appeared on Cherri’s face. “Nah I’m good but thanks for the offer.”

 Cherri was about to walk out the door but stopped and stared at the display of boomerangs in the hall. It seemed to trigger some lost memories.

 “Where did you get these?” she breathed. She glanced down and picked up a long tube shaped instrument.

 “Where else but in Australia?” Roo replied with a grin.

 “You mean that’s where you were from?”

 Roo nodded.

 “Same here.”

 Both their eyes grew wide in surprise.

 “Wait, you’re an Aussie too?” Roo asked in disbelief.

 “It’s true though,” Cherri replied. “I remember my last days being in the good old 80s.”

 “I never would’ve guessed. You have no accent!”

 “Not everything is what it seems at first glance.”

 Roo could sense explosive power brewing in this woman. This confident fiery individual who so happened to be a former human from Australia just like she was. Was it coincidental that she was having these strange feelings? The desire to learn more about her was swaying through her mind like tall grass on a windy day.  

[sandstars-clan]

Chapter 4

“We’ve had enough of this.”

Sandstorm stepped forward onto the highledge with her tail held aloft. “We’ve been trespassers in our own territory for two nights now, and I think it’s time to leave.”

Cinderpelt nodded as Sandstorm met her eyes. “I’ve gathered plenty of traveling herbs.”

“The apprentices have been taught what to do in emergencies,” Fernflower mewed, nodding to her apprentice and her companions.

“We have plenty of prey for a final feast,” Dustpelt reported, waving his tail. “We can eat, then take the traveling herbs. It’ll keep our strength up longer.”

“Good idea, Longtail.” Cinderpelt nodded. “Let’s celebrate our territory, and remember it for what it was. What it served ThunderClan for so many moons.”

Sandstorm nodded. “Everyone grab some prey from the freshkill pile. Make sure you’re all being fair. Apprentices get the first share, then Speckletail, then Cinderpelt, then the Warriors, and then me.”

“Sandstorm, you have to eat well,” Willowpelt said as she padded by. “You’re our leader.”

Sandstorm nodded casually to her, as if that definitely wasn’t the most daunting thing in the world. 

As Speckletail dragged back a rabbit, She dropped it under the shade of the Highrock. “We’ve been hunting just fine the last two nights,” she said as Tawnypaw and Bramblepaw joined her. “Is it really worth leaving?”

“The dogs will never leave,” Brightclaw mewed anxiously as she placed down a raven. “No matter what we try or do, they’ll never leave this territory. It serves them well, and they’ll kill any cat they see.” Her eyes burned with sadness. Sandstorm could only think of Swiftpaw.

“If we ever dream of having kits again,” Fernflower mewed, “We’ll have to move. I can’t see any reasonable-minded queen giving birth in a territory full of dogs and bleeding prey and herbs like a cut to the neck.”

Sandstorm nodded. “They’re right, Speckletail. Wouldn’t you like to give the new generation a safe place to live and play?”

“Nowhere is safe,” Speckletail said sadly. Bramblepaw murmured something in her ear, but if she acknowledged it, Sandstorm didn’t see.

Dustpelt was the cat that brought her a thick-bodied pigeon. “Here,” he mewed. “I already got my share. I thought I’d deliver yours.”

“Thank you,” Sandstorm said with a dip of her head. She pulled the freshkill back to her Clanmates. “I’ll miss this forest.”

“Me too,” Cinderpelt sighed. “And this camp. It worked so well for our needs, didn’t it? A den for every rank and the Highrock, and the leader’s den just... right there.”

“Our ancestors are buried all around this territory,” Brackenfur reminisced. “Our grandmothers and great-grandmothers...”

Tawnypaw leaned into Speckletail, who purred thunderously.

“The cats who founded the Clans are buried somewhere in these territories,” Mousefur said through a mouthful of squirrel. “Even Thunderstar himself is buried somewhere among these oaks and sycamores.”

“I wonder if anyone will ever find him,” Sandstorm mewed. “If we’ll ever know it was him if we did.”

“If the dogs ever move out and our descendants decide to reclaim the territory,” Ashcloud said in half-sarcasm.

“On a different subject,” Fernflower blurted nervously. “Sandstorm, have you thought of a deputy yet?”

The question shocked through Sandstorm like a lightning bolt. She stared at her paws for a moment, littered with pigeon feathers.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m waiting til I get my nine lives.”

“But if you die, we’ll be in worse shape than ever before,” Ashcloud mewed. “We’ll have even less cats and no leader all over again.”

“She won’t die,” Cinderpelt mewed.

“How do you know?” Brackenfur asked. “Did StarClan send you a sign?”

“... no,” Cinderpelt said reluctantly. “I just know Sandstorm won’t die, because StarClan could never be so cruel as to let a Clan just... die out in the wilderness like this.”

“Cinderpelt is right,” Sorrelpaw mewed confidently as she swiped her jaws with her tongue. “We need to have confidence in StarClan. They take care of the Clans like their own kits.”

Willowpelt nodded proudly beside Goldenflower. “I taught her well,” she mewed.

Sandstorm gazed out at her Clan. Her tiny, tiny little Clan. “We’re heading out tonight,” she decided. “Say your goodbyes, and we’ll leave at moonrise.”

--------

As the remaining tatters of ThunderClan wove through the trees, she could hear Sootpaw talking.

“What if the dogs find us?” the small tom asked fearfully. “Will we have anywhere to run to?”

“Of course,” Ashcloud said gently, licking the top of the tomkit’s head. “Dogs of that size can’t climb trees, and we can walk the branches all the way to Sunningrocks. We should have lost them by that point.”

Sandstorm purred warmly. I did a good job picking mentors, she thought to herself. 

Cinderpelt came up beside her. “Why are we crossing Sunningrocks, again? We can go to Fourtrees... It’s a lot easier.”

“It’s...” Sandstorm shrugged. “Willowpelt mentioned that she wanted to check in on Graystripe and her grandkits before she never saw him again. And I know she might want to see Whitestorm. Goldenflower might want to peek in on Smallear...”

“Right,” Cinderpelt mewed with a nod. “If only we could sneak through ShadowClan territory too.”

“Yeah.” Sandstorm glanced in the general direction of the dark marsh where ShadowClan’s territory was laid out. “I bet Thornpaw would be glad to see you.”

“I wonder what his Warrior Name will be,” Cinderpelt said.

“We’ll probably never know,” Brackenfur sighed. “Not unless we reclaim our place at Gatherings someday.”

Surely we will, Sandstorm thought worriedly. Right?

If anyone else spoke after that, Sandstorm didn’t hear them. They walked past the Sandy Hollow - which smelled strongly of dung just as Mousefur explained - and she wrinkled her nose. Brightclaw bristled fearfully and bolted past Sandstorm to get away from the stench.

They reached the Sunningrocks as the moon finally crested the horizon. A full moon, she thought silently. There’s a Gathering tonight. She wondered if anyone would speak on the disappearance of ThunderClan. They’d stopped marking their borders.

“I’ll go first, then Cinderpelt. Apprentices go in front of Warriors.” Sandstorm looked to Speckletail. “Do you need help?”

Speckletail didn’t answer. The proud old queen gazed down at her paws. “I-”

“I’ll help her!” Bramblepaw offered, bouncing to stand behind his grandmother.

“Thank you,” Speckletail said, though Sandstorm could see a glimmer of shame in the queen’s eyes. She hoped it didn’t bug her for too long.

They crossed the Stepping Stones without incident, save for Rainpaw drenching his backside after an unfortunate slip. He seemed unbothered despite the leafbare chill, with his skinny tail sticking up in the air.

The grass was cold and stiff with frost, and Sandstorm’s paws were quickly made wet. RiverClan territory was soggy, but not uncomfortable to walk over. As they walked, Willowpelt kept peering over the tall grass and swiveling her ears.

“Surely he’s asleep,” Goldenflower soothed.

“I just want to see him,” Willowpelt said softly.

When they finally came across RiverClan’s camp, Willowpelt rapidly broke off and came to the edge of the river. The entrance went unguarded, which was no surprise to anyone. The river was guard enough to keep most intruders away outside of an emergency.

“I can smell him,” Willowpelt said in relief. “He made it here.”

“He’ll take good care of Featherpaw and Stormpaw,” Mousefur said with a nod.

“I hope so,” Willowpelt sighed. “I only hope he doesn’t take after Whitestorm.”

Willowpelt’s clipped voice surprised Sandstorm, but she moved along, mewing to gain the pale queen’s attention. On they walked, through the cold grass and over to the bridge where Graystripe surely had crossed, leaving Thornpaw behind.

They crossed the bridge carefully. By now it was just before moonhigh, and the shadows of the night were fairly short. She could smell the many scents of Gatheringgoers, and wondered if there were any ThunderClan cats permitted at the Gathering this moon.

She knew exactly who would be at the head of the Great Rock: Tallstar, Leopardstar, and Tigerstar. How dare he become leader of a Clan and live in the luxury of ShadowClan when he destroyed an entire other Clan? The one he was born to, the one he was supposed to be loyal to?

She shook herself as they skirted the Fourtrees.

Sorrelpaw paused to gaze over at the hollow. Faintly, the shadow of the Great Rock gleamed in the moonlight. “Will we ever go to the Gathering?” she asked absently.

Fernflower came up beside her and purred comfortingly. “Of course, one day. We all go to Gatherings. It’s part of what makes us a Clan.”

“Why can’t we just go to the other Clans?” Sootkit asked anxiously as they continued toward the moorlands of WindClan. “I mean, they’re just cats like us. Right?”

Sandstorm chuckled warmly. Every apprentice asked that question. Willowpelt was the one who spoke first.

“ThunderClan is its own entity. We’re too different from the other Clans.”

“What do you mean?” Rainpaw asked inquisitively.

“None of the Clans sit vigil when they become Warriors, nor do they fight in the underbrush as well as us. They can’t climb trees well, either. They can’t hunt snakes or squirrels.”

“RiverClan cats swim,” Tawnypaw said knowingly. “They tell strange stories with weird words and they don’t share tongues all that often.”

“ShadowClan is cruel and secluded,” Brightclaw said bitterly. “They’re kit-stealers. They value brute strength against one’s Clanmate rather than their loyalty. They take whatever bloodshed they can get.”

“WindClanners are weak and scrawny,” Mousefur said finally. “They run and they chase their prey, never stalk them. They don’t give thanks to their prey out loud after they catch it. They spend half their lives in rabbit warrens and the other half sleeping under the stars and rain and hail.”

“Sounds uncomfortable,” Sootpaw said quietly from his hiding place under Ashcloud’s legs. The warrior was so tall that Sootpaw had been walking under him for the past hour and noone really noticed.

They walked across the windy moor. Sandstorm was almost convinced they crossed the same path as the Gathering patrol, because one place in the moor was flattened like a snake’s trail and the scent there was stronger than a skunk’s spray. As they passed what was surely WindClan’s camp, she paused to look at her Clanmates.

Willowpelt looked staunchly in the opposite direction, eyes narrowed. Sootpaw and Rainpaw whispered among each other. Sorrelpaw was the only one that emerged from the small crowd and peered across the moor.

“I miss Daddy,” she declared.

Goldenflower broke away from Speckletail’s side to stand beside the little calico. “I miss mine, too, sweetheart.”

After a few moments they set off again. Willowpelt didn’t say a word.

As dawn began approaching and the sky turned from black to purple, a shape came over a ridge.

“Who’s that?” Rainpaw asked quietly as he stood beside Brightclaw. “Is that a WindClan cat?”

“No,” Sandstorm said as the cat approached them. Slender black fur and bright yellow eyes gleamed at her. “It can’t be..”

“I’m sure you have some questions,” Ravenpaw purred with a smile. “But it looks like you need some help first.”

[writethefucknow]

rewind # 354 yr 1

Experimental Daily Write/Don’t Edit/Share 

The Poem                                                                                                                

the weather is hot on the back of my watch                                                                                                                                                                

By Charles Bukowski                                                                                                                                                                                                                                the weather is hot on the back of my watch which is down at Finkelstein’s who is gifted with 3 balls but no heart, but you’ve got to understand when the bull goes down on the whore, the heart is laid aside for something else, and let’s not over-rate the obvious decency for in a crap game you may be cutting down some wobbly king of 6 kids and a hemorrhoid butt on his last unemployment check, and who is to say the rose is greater than the thorn? not I, Henry, and when your love gets flabby knees and prefers flat shoes, maybe you should have stuck it into something else like an oil well or a herd of cows. I’m too old to argue, I’ve gone with the poem and been k.o.’d with the old sucker-punch round after round, but sometimes I like to think of the Kaiser or any other fool full of medals and nothing else, or the first time we read Dos or Eliot with his trousers rolled; the weather is hot on the back of my watch which is down at Finkelstein’s, but you know what they say: things are tough all over, and I remember once on the bum in Texas I watched a crow-blast, one hundred farmers with one hundred shotguns jerking off the sky with a giant penis of hate and the crows came down half-dead, half-living, and they clubbed them to death to save their shells but they ran out of shells before they ran out of crows and the crows came back and walked around the pellets and stuck out their tongues and mourned their dead and elected new leaders and then all at once flew home to fuck to fill the gap. you can only kill what shouldn’t be there. and Finkelstein should be there and my watch and maybe myself, and I realize that if the poems are bad they are supposed to be bad and if they are good they are likewise supposed to be—although there is a minor fight to be fought, but still I am sad because I was in this small town somewhere in the badlands, way off course, not even wanting to be there, two dollars in my wallet, and a farmer turned to me and asked me what time it was and I wouldn’t tell him, and later they gathered them up for burning as if they were no better than dung with feathers, feathers and a little gasoline, and from the bottom of one pile a not-quite-dead crow smiled at me. it was 4:35 p.m.

Read The Writing Excerpt Here

Then- rerun 2014

Content warnings: nonspecific trauma references/childhood brief and non specific mention of suicide

1

You can only kill what shouldn’t be there. That’s what I think when I make my list of the people I always wanted to kill but couldn’t. Fortunately most of them are already gone but I still feel that twitch itch want to pull the trigger feeling about some of them. People who make negative space in the world and subtract children from all the equations like a math problem on the board; the children are the chalk dust when the black board gets erased.

2

You can only kill what shouldn’t be there. Self destructive tendencies. Black mold. Parents who aren’t parents. Dictators with their death squads. Corporations that are eating the world. Strange urges on the top of tall buildings.The smell of alcohol in the air, being sweated out by someone you love. Kill a cigarette, a drink, compunction, the ants that trail into the kitchen, sewer rats, roof rats there are entirely too many rats, the people on life support who are already gone, the woman who needs to die who is trying to die but death won’t quite come for her, kill the pain with another bowl, kill the desire that used to warm everything to a sweet delicious thing but now seems like a bad idea, kill the apps that help us forget to be human beings in the real living world, kill the dangerous things, smelt all the knives that don’t have practical use, bury the dead and the shame too, kill the spider, the animals that have gone rabid (the people are harder to catch) kill the enemy, the women who carry their children into strange bedrooms and leave them there like an offering on an alter, the false gods, the real gods,

I am blasphemy walking today. I used to be a pacifist. Now all my songs have violence woven into the major chords. It’s a phase I tell myself. Rage is important I tell myself. Fortunately I am tired these days and the real things I want to kill are all dead already and I have help when the thing I want to kill is me.

_________________________________________

the act of writing with serious intent involves enormous personal risk. It entails the ongoing courage for self-discovery. It means one will walk forever on the tightrope, with each new step presenting the possibility of learning a truth about oneself that is too terrible to bear.”

― Harlan Ellison

__________________________________________________

Today- January 3 2021

This writing like the writing I want to invite you to do is messy. Run-on sentences. Breaks the Grammar Rules and sometimes is misspelled.

I invite you to Just write. Try 12 minutes or if that’s too scary try 5. Make a list or a sentence or a paragraph.

Pick a line from the poem or a line from the writing. Pick anything at all. There are no rules to this. The rules are for later when it’s time to edit. For now just jump in- you can’t do it wrong.

Pick anything. Look around what do you see or what do you hear? What is the light like in in these days when it gets dark so quickly. What is the air like in these strange days at the beginning of 2021. Take a line from a book or a book title. Write about your favorite piece of fruit. Your favorite first or last love or lust. The thing you are most afraid of.

You can say I’m afraid to tell you or I want to tell you or they want to whisper...Write anything please.

It’s a necessary act- to make a thing in the space that is waiting for you. If it’s calling to you, answer. Be kind to yourself.

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Assasssin’s Creed: Misthaven (18/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war.  For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal.  After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him.  Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: As this story comes to an end, I must thank all of those who made it possible” @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta.  @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created.  @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way and moderating the CSBB.  Her co-moderator @phiralovesloki and her were very understanding about the issues I ran into when writing this fic; broken computers, depression, and two chapter 10′s.  

And of course, to each and every person who commented, reblogged, liked, and shared this fic.  All an author wants is for people to read and enjoy what they have written.

AO3

Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Art1, Art2, Art3 for Chapter 18 by @cocohook38

              Vomit spattered across the sand; a disgusting mix of seawater, bile, and small chunks of the bread and oats Killian had had for breakfast. The smell of it made Killian heave again and blood dripped from the wound in his side as his muscles seized.

              Killian collapsed face first once his body was done expelling the contents of his stomach, as far from the mess he’d made as he could get.  He groaned as he pressed his hand against Cormac’s parting shot.  He could feel the bullet, so the wound wasn’t as deep as it could have been, but he would need to take care of it sooner rather than later.  

              Fighting against the vertigo, Killian forced himself to sit up and take stock of his situation.  Glancing around, he saw that he was on a large beach, a forest behind him and the Smuggler’s Cove nowhere in sight.  

              How did I get here?

              The thought flitted across Killian’s mind.  He was too far up on the beach to have washed ashore, even if it had been high tide.  

              On edge, Killian reached for his sword, but his hand closed around nothing. He vaguely remembered being disarmed aboard the Morrigan and frowned; he’d liked that sword.

              “May I borrow your coat?” A high voice asked.  

              Killian glanced over his shoulder in the direction the question had come from. His hand dug through his pockets in hopes of finding a throwing knife or something to use as a weapon.  

              A pale face framed by wet red hair poked out from behind a large rock, a shy smile on her face.  Killian relaxed and returned her smile.

              “Ariel,” he said as he slowly shrugged out of the waterlogged Templar coat. A flare of pain along his back reminded him of the sword wound he’d gotten during the fight with Cormac.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of being rescued by the Queen of Vand?”

              Killian tossed the coat behind him and kept his eye’s forward until Ariel kneeled next to him.  A mermaid by birth, Ariel had fallen in love with Prince of Vand.  She’d run afoul of Regina shortly after and the Queen had stripped her of her voice in punishment.  Ariel’s search for a way to break the curse had taken her to Neverland, to consult with the mermaids of that realm.  That was where Killian had met her, only a few months after his own arrival.  They’d formed a tentative alliance for about a year, until Ariel had determined that Neverland didn’t have what she needed. He’d been glad to learn, upon returning from Neverland, that Ariel had somehow succeeded and married her Prince.

              “Vand has a standing policy not to get involved in Templar and Assassin disputes,” she said. “But Snow White is a good friend of mine, so I have been keeping an eye on the situation.  When I saw the Nautilus, I followed.  I didn’t expect to find you floating in the wreckage of a Templar ship.  I thought you’d left the Order after your brother’s death.”  Ariel gave Killian a stern, yet inquisitive look.

              “I did,” Killian answered.  “I was… assisting the Brotherhood with getting through the blockade.”  As Killian spoke, he tore the sleeves off his shirt.  One he folded and pressed against the wound on his side.  The other he wrapped around his torso and Ariel tied it over the makeshift bandage to hold it in place.   The pain made Killian light headed and Ariel gave him a worried look as he laid backwards.

              “We need to get you out of the sun.”  Ariel grabbed Killian’s arm and helped him to his feet.  Leaning heavily on the small woman, Killian stumbled the twenty or so feet to the edge of the forest.  Ariel propped him up against the trunk of a tree.  He hissed in pain as the bark dug into the wound on his back.

              “Nemo has a surgeon aboard the Nautilus.  Do you think you could… guide them here?” Killian asked.  

              Ariel’s eyes were wide as she nodded.  “As fast as I can.”  

              Killian closed his eyes as Ariel removed the coat she had borrowed and laid it over him.  He heard her run across the beach and then a splash as she returned to the ocean.  He leaned his head against the tree behind him and fought against the urge to fall asleep.  Between the blood loss and the afternoon sun, it was harder than anticipated.

              Jerking awake after dozing off, Killian found the sun much lower in the sky. Almost dusk, if he gauged its position correctly.  He squinted, hoping to see sign of the Nautilus. He was already feeling cold and sunset would mean a drastic drop in temperature.  He didn’t think he had the strength to build a fire in the forest.  

              A flash of light caught Killian’s eye. Squinting, his heart jumped when he saw that it was the sun reflecting off the hull of the Nautilus.  A long boat was making its way toward the beach, Captain Nemo at its front.  Killian couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.  

              Saved from death once again.

              When the longboat reached the shore, Nemo jumped from the prow.  He raised a hand in greeting as he made his way across the sand.

              An arrow pierced through his shoulder.

              “No!” Killian croaked.

              A few brave sailors ran forward and grabbed their Captain, hauling him backwards toward the longboat.  More arrows rained from the sky.  One pierced a sailor through the thigh and he fell, screaming, to the beach.  One of his compatriots picked him up and tossed him roughly into boat.  

              Killian sighed as he watched the sailors push the longboat off the beach and away from the sudden attack.  He gripped the one knife he’d found tucked in the pockets of the Templar coat in his hand and waited for whoever was in the forest to come for him.  Between it and his hook, he planned to do some damage before they took him out.

              Footsteps came from his left.  

              When a leg appeared next to him, Killian hooked his arm behind it and jerked forward.  The person fell with an oomph and Killian rolled on top of them.  It took Killian only a second to recognize the man below him as a Templar and he buried him hook in the man’s neck.  

              Hands grasped Killian’s shoulders and yanked him back.  He lashed out.  The knife cut across the shins of the person next to him.  A hiss of pain and then one of the legs came up to level a kick at the side of his head.

              Killian’s vision went black.

---

              “This is going to hurt,” was all the warning Killian got before one of his captors, Mulan, poured a liberal amount of his rum on the wound on his back. Killian hissed in pain and bit down on the bit of leather she had provided him just for that purpose. After, Mulan wiped softly across his back with a bit of boiled cloth.  

              “This needs to be closed,” she told him.

              Unable to see his injury, Killian had no choice but to agree to her assessment. He spat out the leather and pushed out his arm, opening and closing his hand.  His flask was placed in it and Killian took a hefty swallow before he passed it back to Mulan.  He placed the leather back in his mouth and then gave her a nod.

              Mulan went slowly, giving Killian time between each stitch to deal with the pain. It was during one quick break that another of the Templars that had captured him came up.  It was Little John, one of the members of Robin Hood’s Merry Men.  Killian had always gotten on well with the large man, when he had been a Templar. Now, the man looked at him as one usually did when staring at a pile of horse dung one just stepped in.  

              “Why are you bothering?  Grandmaster Regina is only going to kill him,” he asked.

              “Do you want to tell Regina that we captured one of the Assassin’s, but let him die before she could interrogate him?” Mulan retorted.  

              Little John snorted.  “Jones here isn’t an Assassin.  He was a Templar, years ago, before he betrayed the Order.  There is a bounty on that bastard’s head.”

              Killian forced himself to breath as Mulan applied another careful stitch as she replied.  “I don’t care who his is.  Our mission was to collect anyone who survived the battle at the cove, Templar or Assassin, and bring them to her.”  

              Another of the Templars, who Killian vaguely remembered to be called Alan-of-Dale, made a sound of disgust.  “A waste of our talents.”

              It was no challenge for Killian to imagine the exasperated look on Mulan’s face. In the short time since they had captured him, he had learned that Mulan did not fit in well with The Merry Men. Not because of her gender, no, but because she didn’t suffer fools.  And without Robin to lead them, The Merry Men were no more than a group of Templar fools.

              After an hour or so, by Killian’s estimate, Mulan was finished closing both of his major wounds.  Afterwards, he was piled into the back of a wagon with two well-armed Templars as guards. Killian made himself as comfortable as he could, though the bounce of the wagon along the rough road irritated his wounds.  

              Killian made no attempts to escape from their custody.  From Mulan and Little John’s conversation, he knew that they were taking him to Regina, who was at the castle of Misthaven.  Which was exactly where Emma was heading and therefore, where he wanted to be.  

              They arrived at the castle after a day and a half on the road.  As he was marched through the halls of the castle, Killian thought about how be could help Emma retake the castle.  As long as Regina didn’t kill him on sight, of course. He knew he was far from fighting fit, but his wounds were healing clean.                   

              Killian was so absorbed in his machinations that he didn’t notice Mulan on his left side.  He jerked his arm back when she grabbed his brace, but she held it firm in her grasp. He gaped as she slipped a small knife between its straps.  He was so shocked that he didn’t get a chance to ask what she was doing before she slipped away.  

              The guards outside a large double door stopped them and Killian turned his arm so that no one would notice the new accessory in his brace.  

              “The Merry Men are here to see the Grandmaster,” Little John informed them.

              One of the guards tilted his head at Killian.  “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

              Killian rolled his eyes as he was escorted into Regina’s presence.  He hoped the Queen could come up with a more original response to his reappearance.

              She did not disappoint.

              Queen Regina barely looked up from the map she was studying to instruct someone to tie him to one of the many columns in the room.  Mulan did the honors, tying him at the elbows to accommodate his lack of hand.  It wrenched his shoulders backwards, which exasperated the cut on his back, but it left his hand free to draw her hidden gift should he wish.  

              Little John laid his hook on the table in front of Regina and then the Merry Men were dismissed.  Regina continued to study the map laid out in front of her.  While she ignored him, Killian studied the Queen.  It had been many years since he had last seen her during his revenge-driven murder spree.  Back then, she’d favored riding outfits and spent as much time as she could on horseback. A far cry from the black leather, velvet, and feather get up she wore now.  He wondered how many ravens had died to make the train of her coat.  

              Regina was close to Killian’s age, he knew, and the years had sharpened her features.  Gone was the slight softness of her face.  It had been replaced by sharp cheekbones and perfectly coifed hair that gleamed in the candlelight. She was nothing short of beautiful, much in the same way he consider a black viper pretty, despite its deadly venom.

              “So the Princess is coming to retake the castle,” Killian heard Queen Regina mutter and his heart dropped.

              Emma, he knew, had hoped to take the Templar Grandmaster by surprise. Without her magic, Emma knew she would need any advantage she could get if she had a hope of defeating the trespassing Queen.  

              Killian slipped the knife in his brace free and angled it toward the ropes that bound him.  If he could get out of here, he could find Emma and warn her.  Now that they were in Misthaven, they could come up with another plan to free her family from the castle.

              Regina chuckled and Killian returned his attention to her as she approached him.  He paused his efforts to escape so that she wouldn’t notice the movement.  “Don’t look so surprised, Jones.  I’ve known that Princess Emma was coming for some time now.  Your ship,” Regina paused, giving him an arrogant grin before she continued, “Your former ship made port in Blanchard and its new Captain traded the information in return for my favor.”

              Killian vowed to hunt down James and gut him like the yellow-bellied swine he was when this was all over.

              With a twist of her wrist, his hook appeared in Regina’s hand.  She laid the tip of it on his chest, just above his heart.  

              “Does she really think she can defeat me with only a handful of Assassins?” Regina asked as she pressed the sharp point of his hook into his flesh.  Killian ignored the pain, and the question.

              Regina smirked.  “No matter.  I have the upper hand.  My sources tell me that the two of you grew quite close on your journey to Camelot and back.”

              Killian clenched his teeth.

              “What do you think the little Princess will do, when she finds out I have you as my captive?” Regina drew the tip of the hook down his chest, opening a shallow cut.

              “With the lives of her parents and son hanging in the balance, and the fate of her Kingdom, do you really think she’ll sacrifice anything to save you?”

              Regina had leaned in close to whisper her taught in his ear, so when she began to pull back, Killian snapped his head forward. His forehead collided with the Queen’s nose with a satisfying crack.  It was short lived, however, for a moment later a sharp pain radiated through his chest. He looked down and the blood drained from his face when he saw that it wasn’t his hook imbedded in his chest, as he expected, but Regina’s hand.

              She grinned at him as she yanked her hand out and held his heart up for him to see.  

              “Let’s find out, shall we?”

              Fuck.

---

              The next day, after spending a sleepless night in one of the castles guest rooms, Killian found himself once again tied to a column.  The guard who tied him had been inexperienced at restraining someone with only one hand, so bindings were easy to cut with the knife Mulan had given him.  Not that he thought his escape would do much good, since Regina had his heart, but he wanted the option open to him.    

              Around midmorning, based on the diffuse sunlight coming in through the windows, a guard came to report that bodies had been turning up across the castle.  Most killed with single stab wounds.

              Regina snapped the guard’s neck with a careless wave of her hand and the body fell at her feet.  She reached within her ornate coat and pulled out a heart.  “Come to the council room,” she said before slipping it back into a pocket.

              Her heels click loudly on the stone floor as she crossed the length of the room to stand in front of Killian. “Do you know how many Assassin’s the Princess has with her?” she asked.

              Killian stared solemnly ahead, ignoring her.

              He gasped when he feels a sharp pain in his chest and he looks down to see his heart, red with liberal swirls of black, in her hand.

              “I said, do you know how many Assassin’s the Princess has with her?”

              “Yes,” Killian choked out.

              “How many?”

              Killian clenched his teeth, fighting the magical compulsion, but Regina only squeezed his heart tighter until he relented and gasped out “Twenty.”

              Regina raised one perfectly shaped brow. “Twenty?  I had no idea there were so many Assassin’s in Arandelle.”

              James, Killian decided, must not have known enough about the Assassins and Templars to mention the Nautilus to Regina.  If he had, he would have known that the ship’s presence in Arandelle would have been information of some value.

              “How did she plan to get…” Regina started to say before she cut off.  Her right arm snapped up and a dangerous smile spread across her face.  

              Killian turned his head to see one of the Assassin’s Emma had brought with her standing a couple paces away, frozen in place.  Sara, he thought her name was.  

              Regina approached Sara and ran a nail down the woman’s terrified face. She shoved her other hand into Sara’s chest and pulled a bright red heart. 

              “You’re young,” Regina said as she studied the heart.

              Then she crushed it in her fist.

              Killian flinched when Sara’s body collapsed to the floor.  Regina dropped the dust from her heart on top of her body. With a thoughtful look on her face, Regina pulled a heart from her pocket, one that did not have enough darkness to be his.    

              Regina marched over to a large mirror on the other side of the room. “Sydney, find me Graham,” she demanded.

              Killian stared at Sara’s body and fought against his urge to pull his hidden knife and plunge the blade between Regina’s shoulder blades.  He knew he wouldn’t get more than a couple of feet before his body joined the fallen assassin’s.  

              Absorbed with his inner battle, Killian almost missed the words that floated up from the mermaid shell around his neck.  

              “I love you, Killian Jones.  I don’t know where you are, if you can hear me, or if you are even alive, but know that I love you.”

              After confirming that Regina was still at the mirror, Killian pulled his hand free and brought the shell up to his lips.

              “Emma, Regina knows you’re in the castle.  She’s prepared for you.”

              Killian dropped the shell and returned his arm to its previous location just as Regina turned from mirror.

              “It seems the Princess has disabled my Huntsman,” Regina fumed as she crossed the room.  She held the other heart from her pocket her hand.  “Such a pity.”

              Dust floated to the ground in front of her.

              Killian wondered if somewhere in the castle, a person had just dropped to the ground, inexplicably dead.

              Emma’s voice floated up from the shell again.  “Killian, if you can still hear me, tap your foot,” she said.

              Killian tapped his foot.

              “If you can get free, tap your foot again.”

              He tapped his foot again.

              “If Regina has taken your heart, tap it again.”

              Reluctantly, he tapped his foot again.

              A colorful collection of curse words issued from the shell and Killian had to suppress his grin.  

              Regina was pouring a glass of wine from the decanter on the table when Emma stepped out from behind one of the room’s pillars. She rushed forward, her sword pointed aimed at Regina’s back.  Regina sidestepped at the last moment, avoiding a killing blow, but Emma redirected her strike to score a long cut across the Queen’s upper arm.

              Regina scowled at the wound before waving her hand over it.  When the purple smoke cleared, her flesh showed no sign of the injury.

              “Princess,” Regina greeted Emma.

              Killian’s heart beat loudly in his chest.  Emma looked pale and had dark circles under her eyes.  Her blonde hair was braided in a crown around her head and her waistcoat was splattered with blood.  

              “It’s over, Regina.  All your men are dead.”

              Regina’s laugh echoed off the stone of the room.  A fireball formed in her hand.

              “Do you really think I need those worthless solders to keep this castle?” 

              Emma summersaulted under the path of the fireball when Regina threw it at her. She came out of her crouch with her sword aimed at Regina’s legs, but the Queen had transported herself out of the way in a puff of smoke.  She reappeared a few feet away, another fireball burning in her hand.

              A rush of wind moved through the room and the fireball sputtered out.

              Regina blinked down at her hand.  Her fingers flexed as she tried to summon another fireball, but none appeared. Regina glared at Emma, and then smirked as she reached into her coat and pulled out Killian’s heart.

              “Hold, Princess, or your lover dies.”

              Emma froze.  Her eyes met Killian’s over Regina’s shoulder and he gave her a small nod.

              “I must say, I was rather disappointed when I’d heard you’d taken up with a pirate.  It was bad enough, your mother marry that worthless shepherd.  Perhaps a taste for low-bred men runs in the family?  Remind me again who the father of your bastard is?” Regina taunted Emma as she made a show of inspecting Killian’s heart.

              Killian sneaked forward in a crouch as quietly as he could, Mulan’s knife gripped lightly in his hand.  When he was close enough, he stood and laid the blade along Regina’s throat.  He pressed it against her skin just hard enough to draw a few drops of blood.

              “She’s all yours, love,” Killian said.

              Emma nodded and stepped forward, the hidden blade on her right arm extended. But just before she could strike the killing blow, Killian was flung backwards.  His back hit one of the columns and he had to fight to remain conscious as darkness overwhelmed his vision.

              “Killian!” He heard Emma scream.  

              He lifted his head.  Emma was kneeling on the ground, blood dripping from a wound on her forehead. Regina stood a few feet away, a fireball dancing on her fingertips.

              “Was that it?  Your big plan to take me out?” Regina asked.  “Rid me of my magic and stick a knife in me?”                

              Aziz appeared at Killian’s side.  The young man helped Killian to his feet and tried to get him to move, but Killian shoved him off.  “Help Emma!” He yelled as he leaned his body against the wall.  Aziz rolled his eyes before moving to follow his command. Aziz rushed forward at the same time as another Assassin, which Killian recognized as Emma’s friend from Alexandria, Red, attacked from Regina’s other side.

              Regina flung both her hands out.  Both Red and Aziz froze on the spot.  With a satisfied grin, Regina stepped forward and grabbed Emma by the hair, forcing her head up.  She held Killian’s heart in front of her face and slowly began to squeeze.

              “Watch, Princess, as your friends die,” Regina sneered.  “All because of you.”

              Killian fell to his knees and screamed as a sharp pain radiated through his chest.

              “No!” Emma screamed.  “Take my heart instead!”

              Regina stared at Emma, her head tilted in thought.  After a moment, the pain in Killian’s chest lessened.  

              “No, Emma,” Killian croaked.  He tried to stand, to make his way to Emma.  “No!”

              Emma glanced in Killian’s direction and gave him a sad smile.  Then she took a deep breath and plunged her own hand into her chest.  She pulled it out, her heart a beautiful dark red with swirls of black, and held it out to Regina.

              An arrow came out of nowhere and pierced through Regina’s hand.  

              A moment later, a small silver bean landed between Emma and Regina.  A portal began to form just as the first drop of Regina’s blood fell.  

              Not wasting her chance, Emma reached out and grabbed Killian’s heart from Regina’s hand.  She flung her body as far from the portal as she could.  She let go of the hearts in her hands and they rolled across the stone floor as Emma’s legs descended into the portal.  

              Mustering all the strength he had, Killian dashed forward.  He grabbed Emma’s arm at the same time as a small woman with dark hair and a quiver on her back grabbed the other.  Together, they pulled until they had Emma clear of the portal. The dark haired woman gathered Emma into her arms and hugged her tight.  With their two faces to close together, Killian could see the physical resemblance between the two.  Emma was safe with her mother, so Killian turned his attention to Regina.  

              The Queen’s hands scrambled for a hold on the edge of the portal.  No one in the room moved as the portal started to shrink.

              “This isn’t over!” Regina screamed as the portal closed in around her.

              Red approached and looked directly in Regina’s eyes.  “Yes, your majesty, it is.”

              The portal closed.

              Killian collapsed onto his back and breathed a sigh of relief.  Before he could take the time to process the fact that Regina was gone, Emma flung herself upon him.

              “What are you even doing here?” She exclaimed as she covered his face with kisses.

              Killian laughed and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.  “It’s a long story, love,” he told her.  He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath.  

              Someone coughed and Killian and Emma both looked up to find her mother standing over them.  In her hands, she held two hearts.  Emma sat up and took the hearts from her mother.

              Side by side, the two hearts were nearly identical. Each pulsed a bright red but had liberal swirls of black.  

              “I…don’t know which is which,” Emma said, wide-eyed.

              Killian sat up and reached out to close his hands over Emma’s own, covering the two hearts.

              “It doesn’t matter.  My heart belongs to you.”

---

              A week after defeating Regina, Emma stood on the same spot where she had offered the Queen her heart and prepared the spell that would break the curse on Henry. She and Belle had spent the better part of the day preparing the potion that now sat in a large cast iron brazier. Emma lowered the end of a burning candle into the bowl and softly blew on the small flames until all the wood caught fire.  The scent of pine filled the room.  

              “Once we add the blood and the fire has burned down, Henry has to drink the potion, right?”  Emma asked Belle.

              The royal librarian had an exasperated look on her face when she answered. “For the fifth time, yes.”

              Emma heard Killian’s badly disguised chuckle and shot a glare in his direction.  He, her parents, and Henry had gathered on the far side of the room to watch the proceedings.  Red stood some distance away with Rumpelstiltskin, who had arrived from Arandelle that morning aboard the Narwhal.

              Emma picked up a small dagger and slid the blade across her palm, creating a cut almost identical to the one she had given herself at Jenny’s graveside.  Blood filled the wound and Emma moved to hold her hand over the burning brazier.  The fire hissed as her blood dripped into the flames and the smell of copper overwhelmed the room.  Belle’s nose wrinkled in distaste as she cleaned the blade of the dagger.  

              Belle indicated that Red should bring the sorcerer forward and Red gave the man a hard shove between the shoulder blades.  He glared at her, but Red just smiled.  Once he was next to the brazier, the Dark One lifted his arms and shook the squid-ink manacles that still bound his wrists.

              As Emma unlocked the cuffs, she saw Killian’s fist tighten on the hilt of the magical dagger that controlled the sorcerer.  He would only use its magic if Rumpelstiltskin tried to flee before completing his part of the spell to free Henry from Regina’s curse.  

              However, Rumpelstiltskin held out his hand and allowed Belle to cut across it. Because his unnaturally dark blood was slow to flow, so Belle had him open and close his hand as he held it over the brazier. Finally, a couple of drops fell into the flames.  

              The fire tripled in size, forcing Emma to take a step back.  When it subsided, all that was left in the brazier was the small clay bowl Emma had placed amongst the wood at the beginning of the spell.  

              “Was that it?” Rumpelstiltskin asked as one of Red secured the manacles around his wrists.  She would see that he was safely returned to the dungeon.

              Emma pulled the bowl from the ashes, surprised to find it cool to the touch.  Small bits of herbs floated on the top of the potion it contained.  

              “Henry,” Emma called, beckoning her son forward. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder as she handed him the bowl.  “I doubt this is going to taste pleasant.”

              Henry sniffed the concoction.  “It smells like cinnamon.”  He brought the bowl to his lips and quickly drank its contents.  His face scrunched up and he coughed.  A shiver moved through his body.

              “Gross,” he exclaimed.  He stuck out his tongue and Emma couldn’t suppress a small laugh at his youthful antics.

              “How do we know if it worked?” Snow White asked from where she and David had watched the spellcasting.  

              Emma looked to Belle, who studied the book in which they had found the spell.  “Once we undo the spell that is binding Henry to Emma’s magic, he should be able to tell us.”

              Emma took a deep breath before removing the rose necklace she had worn for the past few years.  Once the spell between the two of them was broken, there would be no going back.  If they had managed to break the curse, Henry would be able to live a long and healthy life. If they hadn’t…

              Henry would die.

              Emma pulled her son into her arms.  She kissed the top of his head as she muttered I love you over and over again against his hair.  

              “Mom,” Henry whined after a minute.

              “Okay, okay,” she said, letting him go.  She laid the golden rose in her still bleeding palm and closed her hand over it.  Eyes closed, she mentally reached out and found the small bit of her magic that was housed in the charm, connected to her by a small, glowing thread. She slowly pulled on that thread drew her magic back into herself.

              When the final bit of magic left the charm, the spell broke.

              She opened her eyes and saw that Henry was grinning ear to ear.

              “It worked!” He yelled, jumping up and down. “I feel… I feel amazing!”

              Henry threw his arms around her stomach for a quick hug before running over to his grandparents.  Emma swayed on her feet.  A leather-clad arm wrapped around her waist to steady her.

              “You alright, love?” Killian asked.  His face was pinched in worry.

              Emma leaned into his embrace.

              “I’m fine,” she told him.  “Just… overwhelmed, I think.”

              Killian chuckled and looked over at where Henry was begging his grandfather to spar with him.  “Understandable.  You’ve saved your son and your kingdom from a dreadful woman’s revenge.  I think it’ll take some time to process it all.”

              Emma frowned at the mention of Regina.  Though it had been over a week since the Queen had been defeated, Emma had yet to figure out where the magic bean that had opened the portal had come from. She has spoken to everyone who had been in the council chamber at the time but no one had had any idea.  

              “She’s not coming back, love,” Killian whispered.  Emma looked up at him and allowed herself a moment to get lost in the love that shone in his eyes.  “Regina is gone and she cannot hurt you or your family ever again.”

              Emma pitched her voice low so that her parent’s and son did not hear her reply, “But she is still alive and we don’t know where she is!  She could get hold of bean, or some other way to travel realms and come back!”

              Belle, however, was standing within earshot. She closed the spell book she had still been reading and closed her eyes for a moment, before saying, “It was me.”

              Killian and Emma turned in unison toward the librarian, Emma’s mouth agape and Killian’s eyebrows high on his forehead.

              “And trust me, she won’t be coming back.  I sent her to the land without magic.”

              Emma blinked a couple of times before asking, “Where did you get a magic bean?”

              Belle sighed.  “I’ve had it for years.  I… stole it, from my husband.  Just before I left him.”

              Emma stared at Belle in shock.  The royal librarian had been in Misthaven for nearly ten years and had never once mentioned having been married.  

              “My father needed money to fight off the ogres attacking our kingdom, so he arranged for me to marry Gaston, the prince of a rich neighboring kingdom in exchange for gold.”  Belle busied herself cleaning up the supplies they’d used to cast break Regina’s curse as she talked.  “He was a cruel, disgusting man.  So I stole the bean from his kingdom’s treasury and ran away.  I had intended to use it if he ever found me.”

              Killian nodded in appreciation.  He’d come to like Belle in the short time he’d been in Misthaven. He’d spent the first few days after the battle with Regina on forced bedrest due to his collection of injuries. Emma had arranged for her to bring him a number of books to read while he was convalescing.   “He never has?”

              Belle smiled.  “Gaston had me declared dead and found himself a bride much more to his taste within six months of my departure.  I doubt he even remembers me by now.”

              “Belle… I had no idea,” Emma said.

              Her friend shrugged.  “We all have things in our past we would rather forget.  I’d much rather concentrate on my future.”

              On that, Emma had no problem agreeing.  She leaned her head on Killian’s chest as she watched her son and parents.

              “That sounds like a great idea.”